LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Song Spray 



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THOMAS STEPHENS COLLIER 




New London, Conn. 

CARL J. VIETS 

1889 



.c. 



Copyright, 1SS9 

By Thomas S. Collier 

All rights reserved 



THE CASE, LOCKWOOD A BRAINARD CO., PRINTERS, HARTFORD, CONN. 



TO A. C. C. 

If one should paint a vision of dBlight; 

□ r write a song, throbbing with passion's fire, 
That all true souls would cherish and admire; 

□ r win from Dut the silences of night, 

Some thought, so potent in resistless might, 
That a great nation's heart it would inspire 
To noble deeds, and heaven-ward desire, 

Would not love have the honor by all Tight? 

Therefore if in these pages one shall find 
A helpful thought, or pleasure-giving song, 
R beacon rising in life's tossing sea, 

It is the influence of thy tender mind; 

If I have -written helpful -words, or strong, 
Dr Idvb inspired, the honor lies -with thee, 



CONTENTS 













Page 


At Love's Gate ...... i 


Sun Glow 










2 


Recompense 










3 


A Pine Tree 










5 


A Garden Fancy 










6 


In Harvest Time 










7 


In Pace .... 










IO 


Quatrains — Infallibility 










21 


Power, 










21 


Grandeur, 










21 


Sacrilege . 










16 


April 










i9 


An Egyptian Gem 










18 


Through Meadow Paths 










22 


Hafed 










26 


Quatrains — To-morrow 










25 


Love and Deati 


i 








25 


Fate 










25 


The Queen's Revenge . 










29 


Three Moods of Nature 










.33 


Earth, Space, and Time 










41 


Not Lost, 










35 


Haroun al Raschid 










36 



Ll.IANOS ..... 

A Dream of the World Grown Weary 

Passion Life 

Oblivion . 

October . 

A Thunder Storm 

Jubilate . 

Off Labrador 

In the Golden Age 

Antiques — Venus 

Proserpine 

Sappho 

Cleopatra 

Zenobia 

On a Roman Coin 
Accurst 
Recording 

In Mountain Solitudes 
Wind 

A Spring Morning 
Kismet 
In November 
A Passion Picture 
A Ghost . 
Annihilation 
Triumph . 
Quatrains — Love 
Earth 
Results 
Question . 
Cleopatra Dying 
Love Deathless . 
Signs 



In Ruins ..... 








90 


A Triumph Song 








9i 


Light and Dark 








93 


The Minstrel's Curse 








94 


To Love, to Live and Remember 








98 


Arms — Arrows . 








100 


Swords . 








100 


Battle Axes 








101 


A Spear Head 








IOI 


An Organ Symphony at Midnight 








103 


Greeting .... 








i°5 


The Beggar's Wisdom . 








106 


Hope .... 








109 


The Spectre Ship 








no 


Fame .... 








112 


My Lady's Charm 








"3 


Jupiter .... 








114 


Infinity .... 








116 


Bees .... 








117 


Sun Burst 








118 


Quatrains — Difference 








124 


Loss 








124 


A Miser . 








124 


A Conceit 








125 


Locusts .... 








126 


Promise — I. Of Light and Bloom 






127 


II. Of Light and Song 






127 


A Rose Song 








129 


Beethoven 








131 


At Gettysburg . 








132 


Quatrains — Accomplishment 








137 


Compensation 








137 


Inspiration 








137 



The Wind of Death 












138 


Sweet Love is Dead 












141 


Following the Chief 












142 


At Sea 












144 


Puck 












145 


The Past . 












147 


The Future 












1 48 


In Fancy's Realm 












149 


A Lover's Mood 












I S 2 


Incarnation 












154 


The Petrel 












*55 


A Deserted Farm 












'57 


Quatrains — On an Old Proverb 








i59 


A Wall Between 








159 


Discovery 








159 


Forever . 










160 


Royalty 










163 


Inspiration 










165 


Manhood . 










166 


Donizetti . 










168 


Quatrains — Disappointment 










169 


Time 










169 


Harvest Time 










169 


Answered 










170 


Love Supreme 










170 


Summer Time 










171 


Envoi 












173 



AT LOVE'S GATE 



Love came to me one Summer day 
Amid the mounds of fragrant hay, 
Laughed in my face, and went his way. 



Again, when Autumn woods aflame 
With gold and scarlet were, he came, 
And whispered low a dainty name. 

in 

And when the hills grew white with snow, 
And high north winds began to blow, 
He passed me by with footsteps slow. 

IV 

And now I wonder, will he bring 
His priceless gift when robins sing, 
And blossoms fleck the path of Spring ? 



For by the roadway to his gate, 
Clad as befits my lowly state, 
Humbly, a suppliant I wait. 



SUN CLOW 

Lo, THE sunlight, and the south wind, and the morning! 

Lo, the fragrance, and the glory of the day ! 
You, who sneer at life with wild and bitter scorning; 

You, who gather thorns and thistles by the way. 

Lo, the bird songs, and the blossoms, and the beauty! 

Lo, the purple and the amber of the sky! 
You, who scoff at hope that clings to toil and duty; 

You, who pass Love's shining gifts so coldly by. 

Lo, the distance, and the star-light, never weary! 

Lo, the river, seaward rushing, brave and true ! 
You, who see the weeks keep growing dull and dreary; 

You, who find no work for your strong hands to do 

Lo, the future, grand with purpose and endeavor ! 

Lo, the present, rich with struggle and emprise ! 
You, who moan and pray for some oblivious never. 

Shutting out each noble promise from your eyes. 

Lo, the hand-clasps, and the watching, and the waiting! 

Lo, the splendor and the faithfulness of love! 
You, who garner to your souls the senseless hating, 

That at last a tierce, destroying flame will prove. 

Lo, the music of the robins, and the beeches! 

Lo, the gladness of the willow and the larch ! 
You, who wander in life's gray and windless reaches; 

You, who in despair's sad army slowly march. 

Lo, the cornfields, with the sun-glow on them falling! 

Lo, the bounty of the ocean and the land ! 
Lo, the valleys to the hill-tops bravely calling! 

These are free to ready brain and willing hand. 



RECOMPENSE 

Dear friend, the grass is musical above 

The silent earth that holds you in its peace, 

And tossing daisies seem the place to love, 

And mark the passing hours with fond increase. 

Why should I mourn for one whose journey lies 
So near my path, that 1 can almost hear 

His love's swift answer, as its throb replies 
To all that stirs my heart with pain or cheer. 

The days with their recurring songs are loud, 

Even as they were when you were here with me, 

The sunlight lingers in the floating cloud, 
The wind is sweet with saltness of the sea. 

Low calls the sparrow from the frowsy hedge, 
The oriole shines among the restless leaves, 

The wind-flowers sway along the tumbling ledge, 
And hillsides gleam with heavy bearded sheaves. 

I hear the waves that murmur on the sand, 
The sea-birds crooning where the reef is bare, 

And see the white sails parting from the land, 
Bound for an orient freight of spices rare. 

This is the path our feet so often trod, 

And yonder ancient rock the accustomed scat ; 

The buttercups are yellow in the sod, 

The clover blossoms at its base are sweet. 



The valley narrows through the azure haze, 
Wherein the hills, like massive giants loom ; 

The river sleeps in willow-guarded ways, 

And lilies star the cool and fragrant gloom. 

There is no change in leaf, or flower, or tree, 
The wild thorn yonder is as sweet and strong 

As when you trod this windy path, and we 
Heard the clear gladness of the robin's song. 

Yes, you were here one little year ago, 

And saw the winsome earth grow sweet and fair, 

And now alone I wander to and fro, 

And seek you, knowing that you are not there. 

The shadowy silence holds you, yet I feel 
When in the old familiar haunts I stand, 

That one swift moment can your face reveal, 
And give to me the clasping of your hand. 



A PINE TREE 

Where, old and gray, the mountain rears its head, 
In sunlit silence stands a lonely tree. 
Far off along the valley you can see, 

When evening glories gather gold and red, 

Its sombre shadow : for the ages fled 
It seems a sentinel. Winds whistle free 
Down from the North o'er many a wide degree, 

And sing weird dirges for its comrades dead. 

Yet tall and straight it rises, firm and strong 
It hails the flying years that hurry by, 
And flings defiance to the tempest's might ; 

A noble poet, full of deathless song 

That rings aloud, or dark, or bright the sky, 

Rich with hope's promise, and sweet beauty's light. 



A GARDEN FANCY 

A crimson opulence and foam of white, 

Through which the bees wing with a drowsy drone 
A mound of pansies, belted with a zone 

Of dainty pinks, sweet with the kiss of night ; 

Great golden clusters, wherein moths delight, 
And scarlet sprays by whispering breezes blown 
Athwart the path, down whose cool way has flown 

A humming-bird, like sun-made iris bright. 

And here, where orioles make sumptuous feast, 
And robins gather in the fragrant shade, 
And butterflies are free to come and go, 

There blooms a lily from the distant east, 
That brings to mind a rare Circassian maid, 
Haunting some grim Sheik's dim Seraglio. 



IN HARVEST TIME 

Low wind ghosts flutter through the rustling corn, 
A locust drones in yonder whispering tree, 

And where dissolves the misty veil of morn. 
The lazy ships sail slowly out to sea 

In harvest time. 

The scarlet poppies cluster by the road, 

The sweeping scythes flash in the falling grass, 

And lumbering wagons, with their heavy load. 
Along the dusty highways- lingering pass 

In harvest time. 

The radiant sunlight slants among the leaves, 
As though no hidden covert it would miss, 

Bearing the gold sheen of the garnered sheaves, 
To all the ripening apples it may kiss, 

In harvest time. 

The honeysuckle by the porch is sweet, 

And noisy bees wing on from bloom to bloom, 

Full loath to leave, for yonder windless heat, 
The shade and coolness of the fragrant gloom 

In harvest time. 



The undulating wheat along the hills, 

That shimmers in the sun's refulgent beams, 

Its bearded kernels to completeness fills, 
And in contented splendor brightly gleams, 

In harvest time. 

When high the sun in noonday glory rides, 

Where willows keep the lake's green margin cool, 

The speckled trout amid their shadow hides, 
And dragon flies haunt every shaded pool 

In harvest time. 

The crows are silent in the sombre pines, 
And drowsy cattle pace with listless tread 

The shallow brooks, that run in silvery lines 

Where meadow blossoms flaunt their banners red, 

In harvest time. 

Where, clothing all the crumbling wall of stone, 
The wild grapes show their purple globes of wine, 

The butterflies hold carnival alone, 
And brilliantly their iris colors shine, 

In harvest time. 

The oriole, above his swinging nest, 

In the knarled pear tree plumes his orange coat, 
And, as the sun sinks slowly clown the west, 

Croons to his mate a low, melodious note, 

In harvest time. 

The moths make feast where pendulant blossoms sway, 
In woods that ring with shrill nocturnal songs, 

And while the shadows change to deeper gray, 
Some dreaming bird day's jubilant voice prolongs 

In harvest time. 



Beside the garden path, serenely fair, 

Clothed in her garmenture of odorous white, 

That wins fresh perfume from the heavy air, 
The lily shines, a star amid the night, 

In harvest time. 

Oh, bounteous season, rich through every hour 
In gifts that make our souls with joy a-tune, 

The fruitful earth is lavish of her dower 

From morning's flush, till glows the mellow moon, 

In harvest time. 



IN PACE 

In Memoriam 

Of the Men who fell in the Massacre in Fort 

Griswold, Groton Heights, Connecticut, 

September 6, 1781. 

Harken, O hearts ! and wonder, 

Concerning the days now dead, 
Days that were loud with thunder, 

And with livid lightnings red — 
When the war-drums smote with their rolling 

Through the dark, and swords were drawn, 
And the clangor of bells, and their tolling, 

Rose high in the startled dawn. 

Then out from the mist and the morning, 

The ships with their dissonance came, 
And the challenge of death, and the scorning, 

Flashed forth in a blood-red flame ; 
And the hills, with the sunlight mellow, 

And the woods, and the sloping shore, 
Heard the great, black guns, as their bellow 

Grew deep in a savage roar. 

There were kisses, and hands were clasping 

That never would meet again ; 
And the sinews grew stiff in the grasping 

Of swords that were free from stain ; 



And out from the homes, and the tender 

Sweet light of a love sublime, 
They marched to the gory splendor 

That has linked their names with time : 
They marched to the blood and the battle, 

To the rush and biting of steel, 
Their hearts elate with the rattle 

Of drums, and the charge's reel ; 
Marched out in the sunlight, glowing 

On plume, and musket, and sword, 
To bend and fall in the mowing, 

Whose harvest was given the Lord. 

Oh, men who were brave and fearless ! 

Oh, men who were tried and true ! 
Who toiled, when the days were cheerless, 

And the night had nor stars, nor dew ; 
Who met, when the morn was breaking, 

The rush and carnage of war, 
And heard the trumpets, awaking 

To sleep, and awake no more, — 
The grass and the blossoms above you 

Are fresh with the light and the rain, 
And we bow to your deeds, and love you, 

Who answered the call, and were slain. 

In the light that has dawned, and the glory, 

You live by the death that stung, 
When the hillsides were rent and gory, 

And the bullets whistled and sung ; 
When the foeman's steel, and its gleaming, 

Was bright in the tasseled corn, 
And his banners were widely streaming 

Through the cool, wan light of morn ; 



When up from the shadows and water 

He strode in his pomp and might, 
And the air grew keen with the slaughter, 

And you closed in deadly fight ; 
Closed, swift as the flash that passes, 

And leaves in the sombre gloom 
The withered blossoms and grasses, 

And the dead who wait the tomb ; 
And the storm swept by, like the leaping 

Of waves when the winds are high, 
And left you in peace, and sleeping 

Beneath the stars and the sky. 

The walls are silent and crumble 

With storms, and the weight of years, 
That were loud with strife, and the rumble 

Of guns, and the rush of cheers, 
When your hearts were swift in their beating, 

And your eyes were stern and hard, 
As the foe sprang on to the meeting, 

Over sward, and flinty shard, 
Sprang on through the flame-swept spaces, 

To the mad and stubborn thrust, 
And lay cold, and with blood-stained faces, 

Struck down to the bitter dust ; 
And their comrades came, like the rushing 

Of fierce winds that onward sweep, 
When great oaks to the ground are crushing, 

And the ships sink down the deep, — 
Surged over the ramparts, planted 

With death and the seeds of death, 
While the cannon about them panted 

And belched their murderous breath : 



And there, when the sun was sinking, 

You lay with your sightless eyes, 
And the earth and the rocks were drinking 

The blood of your sacrifice. 

On the rocks where the high wave dashes, 

The moon will shine, and the sun ; 
By war's sanguine carnage and ashes, 

The gladness of peace is won ; 
The smoke cloud of battle, uplifting, 

Dissolves in the vast of space, 
And the silent white mists go drifting, 

Where death ran a fearful race ; 
And over the graves sweeps the regnant, 

Swift glory of resonant days, 
Rich with singing of birds, and pregnant 

With the joy of jubilant ways. 

There are deeds that we cannot banish, 

There are thoughts beyond control ; 
Men build for a day, and they vanish, 

But leave us their strength and soul ; 
And out from the heat, and the flashing 

Of light that illumes the storm, 
From the thunder's roll and its crashing, 

The earth grows royal and warm. , 

Life comes with the flush, and the golden 

Enchantment of sunlit years ; 
Swept back are the sorrow, and olden 

Derision of pain and tears, 
When the rain that was swift in falling, 

Was dark with the stain of blood, 
And men heard the wail, and the calling 

13 



Of winds when the tide ran flood ; 
Heard the sound of musket and sabre, 

As they drank at the well of life, 
And ended their passion and labor, 

When the earth was wild with strife ; 
Saw the sulphurous war cloud bursting 

Where the waves ran up the shore, 
And the guns, with their black mouths thirsting 

For the kiss of flame once more ; 
And the darkness grew, and the hollow, 

Hoarse growl of the fight was still, 
And the cold, grim night seemed to follow 

The foe speeding down the hill ; 
And silent and sweet was their slumber, 

Whose turmoil and toil was done, 
And the graves grew many in number 

Beneath the light and the sun. 

From the throes that led to creation, 

From silence, and gloomful toil, 
Came the soul and strength of a Nation, 

Wrought out by battle and spoil. 
Ah, the years are swift in their passing, 

And they change, like tides that roll 
Where the rocks, in dark grandeur massing 

Meet the surges from the Pole ; 
Yes, they pass, but they leave behind them 

The good Love wins, and the song ; 
If you seek their steps, you will find them 

Where purpose and thought grow strong ; 
And time is a force that is blending 

With life, in the work of God, 
And the way they tread is unending, 

Like those by the great spheres trod. 
14 



Men die, but their deeds are eternal, 
To our hearts and love they cling ; 

They shine like the stars, and the vernal 
Sweet blossoms that May days bring. 

From the sea, with its great white beaches — 

From the plains with wheat agleam — 
From the mountain, whose pine-clad reaches 

Gloom down on the foaming stream ; — 
From the river, so swiftly flowing 

By forest and busy town, — 
From the cool, wide vales, that are showing 

The gold of their harvest crown ; — 
From the rocks where the ocean surges 

Dash high on New England's shore, — 
And from slopes, where the wind-made dirges 

Far up with the eagles soar, 
Sound the words that are like the ringing 

Of bells, when a people come, 
Through the glorious sunlight, bringing 

Their heroes in triumph home. 
For yours are the deeds that we cherish, 

Who died that we might be free, 
And your memory cannot perish 

While the land is kissed by the sea. 



i5 



SACRILEGE 

Beside the wall, and near the massive gate 

Of the great temple in Jerusalem, 
The legionary, Probus, stood elate, 

His eager clasp circling a royal gem. 

It was an offering made by some dead king 
Unto the great Jehovah, when the sword 

Amid his foes had mown a ghastly ring, 
Helped by the dreaded angel of the Lord. 

There, on his rival's crest, among the slain, 
Through the red harvest it had clearly shone, 

Lighting the grimness of the sanguine plain 
With splendors that had glorified a throne. 

Above the altar of God's sacred place, 
A watchful star, it lit the passing years 

With radiance falling on each suppliant's face, 
Gleaming alike in love's and sorrow's tears, 

Till swept the war-tide through the sunlit vales 
Leading from Jordan, and the western sea, 

And the fierce host of Titus filled the gales 
With jubilant shouts, and songs of victory. 
16 



Then came the day when over all the walls 

The Romans surged, and Death laughed loud and high, 

And there was wailing in the palace halls, 
And sound of lamentations in the sky. 

Torn from its place, it lay within the hand 
Of Probus, whose keen sword had rent a way, 

With rapid blows, amid the priestly band 

Whose piteous prayers moaned through that dreadful day. 

And there, beside the wall, he stopped to gaze 
Upon the fortune that would give his life 

The home and rest that come with bounteous days, 
And bring reward for toil, and warlike strife. 

There was no cloud in all heaven's lustrous blue, 

Yet suddenly a red flash cleft the air, 
And the dark shadow held a deeper hue, — 

A dead man, with an empty hand, lay there. 



17 



AN EGYPTIAN GEM 

Men fashioned you, when by the slumberous Nile 
Rose stately temples, rich with carven stone, 
Through whose cool, lofty spaces rolled, wind-blown, 

Fierce triumph songs that loudly swelled the while 

Vast hosts went marching by, mile after mile 

Of gleaming spears and swords that brightly zone 
A conquering king, whose sounding name was known 

As master in each grand and massive pile. 

The temples now are crumbling into dust, 
The mighty men of war are long forgot, 
And even the king would be unknown to fame, 

Had not you held his deeds in sacred trust, 
And brought to us, unstained by cruel blot, 
The resonance and glory of his name. 



APRIL 

Aloft where bends the tall elm's topmost crest, 
Watching the sun, the robin sits and swings ; 

The amber light shines on his crimson breast, 
And loud his carol rings. 

The crocus buds break into starry bloom, 
And in the wind the golden tulip rocks, 

And garrulous sparrows chatter in the gloom 
Of prim and rounded box. 

The meadows stretching from the river, show 
The fresh, cool green of early springing grass ; 

The bending willows droop their branches low, 
As winds above them pass. 

A shimmering haze lies on the dreamy slopes, 
Of hills that rise against the lustrous west ; 

The waveless sea seems bright with radiant hopes 
Of summer's peace and rest. 

The south wind singing through the pasture, bends 
The fern's low frond, crowning a mossy plinth; 

And violet fragrance in the garden blends 
With sweets of hyacinth. 

19 



The mellow sunlight, breaking through the rifts, 
Burns like a flame along the widening plain, 

And down the sloping valley slowly drifts 
The murmur of the rain. 

The yellow cowslips toss their cups of gold, 

Where brooks go murmuring through the reedy marsh, 

And crows among the blooming maples hold 
A council loud and harsh. 

The ploughman, whistling down the furrow, sees 

Above the thin and opal-tinted mist, 
The rounded cones of budding orchard trees, 

Where blue-birds make their tryst. 

The massive monarchs of the forest now 

Are giant harps, melodious with song, 
That vibrates through each quaintly twisted bough, 

Swaying the hills along. 

The fragrant morn, clad in soft robes of white, 
Flings wide day's portal for the sunlit noon, 

And deep the purple stillness of the night 
Clings round the narrow moon. 

And fair with blooms, and buds that tell of these, 
Through merry songs across the valleys blown, 

Fresh from the sweetness of south-lying seas, 
Comes April to her own. 



QUATRAINS 
i 

INFALLIBILITY 

"Believe in me," the Prophet cried, 
" I hold the key of life and light : " 

And lo, one touched him, and he died 
Within the passing of a night?" 



POWER 

Haroun, the Caliph, through the sunlit street 
Walked slowly with bent head and weary breath, 

And cried — "Alas, I cannot stay my feet, 

That move unceasing toward the gate of Death." 

in 

GRANDEUR 

A level plain, reaching from day to night, 
And like a giant standing lonely there 

A solitary peak, whose fadeless light 

Shines a bright beacon in the upper air. 



THROUGH MEADOW PATHS 

Running from the shaded porch, , 
Where, like an inverted torch 
Swings the trumpet flower, the path, 
Glorious with the aftermath 
Of the early summer days, 
Leads us on to pleasant ways. 

Through the garden's perfumed space 
Where the lily's stately grace, 
Shines in all the fair and pure 
Whiteness of its garmenture, 
And the purple pansies nod 
Just above the circling sod. 

Velvet leaves of crimson hue, 
Sparkling with night's honied dew, 
Forming radiant caverns, where 
Gauze-winged mites make fragrant lair, 
Show the perfect, calm repose 
Of that regal bloom, the rose. 

Telling of the early spring, 
Violets to their sweetness cling, 
By a scarcely opened bud 
Crimson with high summer's blood, 
And the silver larches fret 
Over beds of mignonette. 



Where the lithe and rustling mass 
Of the meadow's ripening grass, 
Clings about the garden's edge, 
There we see, along the hedge, 
Creamy chalices, that hold 
Just a speck of yellow gold. 

Then the clover blossoms toss, 
Where the pathway winds across 
Level sweeps, where rise and sink 
Flutings of the bob-o-link, 
And the thrushes loudly call 
Just beyond the tumbling wall. 

Heavy with its bearded store, 
By the river's winding shore, 
Bends the wheat, that ready stands 
For the reaper's brawny hands, 
Murmuring a melodious song 
When the summer wind grows strong. 

Up against the mellow skies, 
Gradual sloping hills arise, 
Wooded by great trees, that screen 
With their whispering robes of green, 
Winding roads, whose shadows seem 
Like the vistas of a dream. 

Hee, along the noisy brooks, 
Lie the hidden sunlit nooks, 
Where the stared anemone 
Woos the kisses of the bee, 

23 



Blooming just within the shade 
By a massive oak tree made. 

Dreaming hours are all too fleet, 
And we move with lingering feet 
Down the slope, and see the sun, 
When the meadow paths are won, 
Flaming just above the crest 
Of a mountain in the west. 



24 



QUATRAINS 



TO-MORROW 

" To-morrow I give to Love, and the Lord ; 

But to-day is Fame's," he said, 
And the morning shone on a broken sword, 

And a mail-clad warrior, dead. 

ii 

love and death 

Earth hath two gifts all other gifts above, 
And both are born within a passing breath, 

Yet last throughout all time — the one is Love, 
The other — Death. 

in 

FATE 

Fate, passing over earth one night, 

Laid his stern seal on three new lives : 

One died a king, one sank in fight, 
One wasted in his felon gyves. 



2$ 



HAFED 

The Bedouin chieftain, Hafed, in his tent 
Sat lone and desolate, for he was old ; 

His withered form with age was scarred and bent, 
His pulse beat slow, his blood was thin and cold. 

Ten years before, three stalwart sons had stood, 
When down the west the sun was lingering low, 

And asked his blessing, brave they were and good, 
Loyal to friends and bitter to a foe. 

The desert lands wherein their youth had flown 
Too narrow were for more than one domain, 

So Hafed bade them go and win their own, 
Where wide and fair lay valley, hill, and plain • 

Gave them his blessing, saw them ride away, 

And crushed the hot tears from his dimming eyes, 

Then turned again to see, day after day, 
The sandy desert land, the cloudless skies. 

Ten years were gone, and he had bid them come 
When these should pass, and tell him of their toil, 

Where in the world each one had made a home, 
And what had been their gain of fame or spoil. 
26 



And now he waited, and afar was heard 
The bells that told of some vast caravan, 

Their tinkling sounded like the call, a bird 

Sent through the dark, when first the day began. 

And then the blare of trumpets, and the sound 
Of trampling steeds came from the hilly North, 

The loud reverberations shook the ground, 
And rising, Hafed from his tent went forth. 

Eastward long lines of camels lengthening ran, 
Northward a host shone in its burnished steel, 

And in the west, a solitary man 

Beneath a heavy burden seemed to reel. 

The level rays of sunlight lit the west, 

When his three sons before him bent the head, 

One clad in armor, one in crimson dressed, 

One whose coarse robe fell down in rent and shred. 

" What bring you ? " Hafed cried. — The eldest spoke, 
Pointing where stood the camels and their load, 

And flinging wide his richly jeweled cloak — 
" These gifts I bring you from my far abode. 

" I am a merchant, and in Teheran, 

Men call me ' Omar of the icy heart,' 
And yet I do no wrong to any man — 

I only claim of mine each smallest part." 

" And you ? " — The second spoke. — "I bring a sword, 
A host of men who glitter like the sun ; 

Wide are the lands that own me for their lord," — 
" Yes, yes, I know, How were these wide lands won ? " 

27 



" Ah, red the rivers, and like leaves the dead, 
And Ali's blow was cruel as the grave, 

Or so my foemen in their fury said, 

And died, as die the catif and the slave." 

The last one spoke. — "I have no gold, nor land, 
No man has felt the swiftness of my blow, 

No beggar goes from me with empty hand, 
That love is mine, is all enough to know." 

" This burden I have borne for many miles, 
Are lowly gifts, by love made high and sweet, 

They came to me with laughter, and with smiles, 
I gladly lay them at my father's feet." 

Then Hafed cried — "Ah, woe for wasted years! 

Take back your gold, your cold and cruel arms, 
They bear the stain of blood and bitter tears, 

Of haunting care, and gloom, and wild alarms." 

" Only one gift my waiting brings to me, — 

Only one gift all other gifts above, 
To shine an island in life's barren sea, 

Won, not by sword or gold, but all by love." 

The level sunrays sank below the sand, 

A great wind blustered downward from the hills, 

A sudden gloom fell on the weary land, 

And black clouds gathered full of thunder thrills. 

One flash of light smote through the dark, and shone 
On Hafed's face, grown cold, and still, and white; 

The chief had borne his gift to heaven's Throne, 
And lay there dead amid the storm and night. 
28 



THE QUEEN'S REVENGE 

In northern lands, where over valleys bare, 

Wan clouds lie heavy on the sullen air, 

And silent plains, barren of shrub and tree, 
Merge their drear grayness in a sombre sea, 

There stands, amid the waste, a ruined tower, 

Wherein a fair Queen made her winsome bower, 
When knighthood's glory was no empty name, 
And life was held as nothingness to fame. 

There, like a bloom from some far tropic land, 

Thrown desolate upon the moaning sand, 
She saw the red sun rise, and set, and rise, 
And wander like a flame across the skies, 

His lurid light, the one bright thing that lay 

Within the narrow boundary of her day, 

Save when the winds from the far North would roam, 
And fill the waves with flecks of phosphor foam. 

Then, though the land was stern and bitter cold, 
The bay full many a busy ship would hold ; 

And the wide streets were loud with passing feet, 

And in the market-place for trade would meet 
Merchants from lands that lie far leagues away, 
And even swarthy Mongols from Cathay 

Came, with their fragrant teas and dreamy eyes, 

To shrewdly barter with the over-wise. 

29 



The ruler of this land, her sovereign lord, 
Was hard of heart, and ready with the sword ; 

And when she came, red-lipped and fair of face, 

Making a radiance in the dreary place, 
He had no kind word for her youthful bloom, 
But led her onward through the wintry gloom, 

And bidding that a page await her call, 

Left her, a stranger, in his castle's hall. 

Slowly she wandered through the dark abode, 
Where each chill room seemed freighted with a load 
Of sin or grief, and at the last she came 
To this small tower, and saw the sun's red flame 
Smite through the shadows like a sword, and here, 
Because the sea beyond lay wide and clear, 

She made her home, and bade them hither bring 
Soft silks, and lace, and every beauteous thing. 

And so they gathered tapestries and gold, 
And paintings that of love and prowess told, 
And ivory carvings, made by patient hands 
In unknown corners of far Orient lands, 
Flowers of rare hue and fragrance subtly sweet, 
And soft bright rugs to guard her dainty feet, 

And while the great winds shook their cloudy plumes, 
Warm light and perfume filled her lofty rooms. 

And here for months she waited all forlorn, 
While in the hills, following the huntsman's horn, 

Or on the sea, sweeping with fierce array 

Along some sterile waste or sunlit bay, 
The king went with his men, and left behind 
Sad wreck and ruin, and hot tears that blind, 
30 



Where signs of war marked the ensanguined plain, 
And ravished women wept their husbands slain. 

The months grew into years, whose slow steps fell 
Like the sad, monotonous tolling of a bell 
Telling of death, amid her wasted life : 
What good to her was the high name of wife ? 
What good to her the pageantry and state, 
Of victories that made her husband great ? 
Her weary heart could find no joy in this, 
While her red lips were barren of a kiss. 

There came a time, when, having fought and won 
In stubborn fight, with foes whose arms had run 
Full many a foray through his wide domains, 
The king came marching back along the plains, 
And saw, just at the borders of the night, 
A high tower flame with sudden stars of light, 

And then he thought, " Surely my Queen lives there, 
And all the world says she is very fair — 

And tired am I of this mad toil and heat ; 
Lo, I will rest, and taste of love, for sweet 

The banquet is" — and thus was led once more 

Unto his castle on the surf-beat shore, 
And sought his Queen, and when he came where she 
Had waited, longing, for this time to be, 

They pulled the curtains backward from the bed, 

And there the Queen lay, sweet, and fair, and dead. 

Then like a flash that parts the gloom, and falls, 
A breath of desolation on the walls 

3i 



Once strong and stately, through his spirit drove 

The longing and intensity of love ; 
And with a cry that smote death's hungry ears, 
Like music flung from off resounding spheres, 

He cast himself beside the silent form, 

And sorrow filled him with its restless storm. 

They made her grave high on a windy hill, 
And though the king strove with a mighty will 

To lose his sorrow, still to him it clung. 

No more his banners to the breeze were flung, 
But with slow steps, and wan and moody face 
He came and went about the dreary place, 

Yet never passed the portal of her room, 

Where spiders wove amid the haunted gloom. 

His sword and mail grew red with idle rust, 
His standards heavy with their hoarded dust, 

And he alone, of all his brilliant host 

Roamed through the place like some forgotten ghost 
And in the streets were signs of swift decay, 
No more the ships came sailing up the bay, 

The markets echoed to no busy stride, 

And lifeless docks moaned to the ebbing tide. 

At last they found him one chill winter morn, 

His long white hair upon the wind outborne, 
Clinging, with stiff hands, to the gate that led 
Where lay the Queen that he had loved when dead ; 

And without state or ceremony bore 

His weary form within the narrow door, 
Then passed away, and ruin stalked alone, 
Through wide, deserted wastes of crumbling stone. 
3 2 



THREE MOODS OF NATURE 



Bright sunshine on the meadows lying, 
Low winds among the orchards sighing, 
Blush roses by the pathway blooming, 
And brown bees through the clover booming. 

Cowslips where murmurous brooks are flowing, 
Sweet violets by the roadside showing, 
Pink blossoms and white daisies greeting, 
And blue waves on the wide sands beating. 

Like flame-flecks through the verdant arches 

Of sturdy oaks and silver larches, 
With wealth of rapid, joyous singing, 
Blithe, merry robins swiftly winging. 



Over the dark and sullen reaches, 

Surging along the sodden beaches, 

Weird, vague songs in its deep intoning, 
The drear East wind is sadly moaning. 

With deep, sonorous roll, the thunder 
Reverberates the storm glooms under, 

And tossing seas high sprays are flinging, 
Where driving rain smites hard and stinging. 

5 33 



With fierce, hot glare, the lurid lightning 
Along the foamy crests is brightening ; 
Across the black clouds, linked and livid, 
Its flashes burn in splendor vivid. 

in 
Far, purple skies, serene and mellow, 
Mingling of crimson tints and yellow, 
Russet and amber leaves entwining, 
And barberries and sumachs shining. 

Gray shadows over hillsides drifting, 
Gold lights through swaying branches sifting, 
Birds softly to each other calling, 
And ripened nuts and apples falling. 

A little valley southward facing, 

A lake set in an emerald tracing, 

And hid from winds now growing chilly, 
The white bud of a fragrant lily. 



34 



NOT LOST 

Yes, cross in rest the little snow white hands. 
Do you not see the lips so faintly red 
With love's last kiss ? Their sweetness has not fled, 

Though now you say her sinless spirit stands 

Within the pale of God's bright summer lands. 
Gather the soft hair round the dainty head 
As in past days. Who says that she is dead, 

And nevermore will heed the old commands ? 

To your cold idols cling, I know she sleeps, 
That her pure soul is not by vexed winds tost 
Along the pathless altitudes of space. 

This life but sows the seed from which one reaps 
The future's harvest. No, I have not lost 
The glory and the gladness of her face. 



35 



HAROUN AL RASCHID 

Wide wastes of sand stretch far away ; 

A single palm stands sentinel 

Beside the stone rim of a well ; 
The sky bends down in shades of gray. 

Like some sad ghost, with measured pace, 
A man plods slowly through the sand, 
A pilgrim's staff clasped in his hand, 

A hopeless sorrow in his face. 

He leans against the lonely tree ; 
A low wind blowing from the south, 
Sweeps o'er the desert's sun-wrought drouth, 

With fragrant coolness of the sea. 



He bares his head ; his weary eyes 
Turn upward, full of reverent light : 
"Father of all, I own Thy might, 

Oh, give me rest ! " he sadly cries. 

"The sword has brought me gold and fame, 
And these have given me kingly state, 
Men bow to me and call me great, 
And what is greatness but a name ? 
36 



" I cannot make love bless my lot ; 
Men show obeisance as they pass, 
But in my soul I cry, Alas ! 
And wish my greatness was forgot. 

" Haroun Al Raschid, Caliph grand ! 
So courtiers say, but not so I, 
For like all men, I, too, must die ; 

Who then will serve ? and who command ? " 

Across the sands a caravan 

Wound slowly, till it reached the place : 
The merchants gazed upon his face, 

And bent before the lonely man. 

" O, Caliph grand, the city waits 

In sorrow for your swift return ; 

The people for your presence yearn, 
And watchers throng the open gates. 

"Cast off your pilgrim gown and hood — 
Return to those who pray for you 
With souls where love reigns strong and true, 

Haroun Al Raschid, Caliph good ! " 

Along the sands he took his way — 
"They love me, then," he softly said, 
"But, ah, one must be lost, or dead, 

Ere knowledge brings this perfect day ! " 



37 



A DREAM OF THE WORLD GROWN WEARY 

Wide through the world I hear the wailing cry 
Of Nature's forces, sorrowing to die ; 
The swift revolving months, the rolling tides, 
The cataract foaming down the mountain sides, 
The high-piled glacier and the towering tree, 
And the deep fountains of the lower sea, 
These sound in solemn notes the weary woe 
Of years relentless, that with sun and snow, 
Cold rain, and winds tempestuous, roar along, 
Turning their sweetest anthems to sad song. 

" So long ! so long ! " they say, and sadly sigh, 

And in the meadows green the great herds lie, 

Or listless crop the grass that hangs the head : 

And the sweet flowers are moaning to be dead. 

The birds sing low, as though their hearts were cold, 

And dull and dusty are the flame and gold 

Of sunset clouds. The falcon, poised on high, 

Sees the white dove go slowly winging by, 

And does not strike : and wolves with sheep lie down, 

Where in the forest gather soft and brown 

The fallen leaves : even the bright brooks seem 

To lie entranced within a doleful dream. 



Among the languid blooms, too sweet to die, 
The droning bee on listless wing doth fly, 



Passing unheeded by the honied store 
So wont to tempt him in the days of yore, 
His merry hum all sadly out of tune, 
Even amid the golden light of June. 

The ships lie idle on the sun-bright sea, 

Their broad sails shining, as they hang all free 

From strain of wind ; not even a breath is there 

To wake the slumbering stillness of the air ; 

Only a few short sighs, that sweep the waves 

Like ghosts of breezes wandering from their graves. 

Slowly the moon sails by the fading stars, 
Whose thin light falls in broken silver bars, 
Between gray clouds, that like cold shrouds float o'er 
Her white and narrow face, a ghastly store 
Of robes to wreathe a beauty weary grown, 
And feeling all its youthful freshness flown. 

Then night's dim shadows die by slow degrees, 
And rising up from the cold shores of seas, 
Whose waves run up the sand without a sound, 
The storm clouds come, and darken all the ground ; 
Amid their gloom the lightning faintly glows, 
The thunder groans in low, despairing throes, 
And like tears wept for some slow sinking pain, 
In sad and solemn cadence falls the rain. 

All day confronting on a level plain, 
Where rotten falls the ripe, neglected grain, 
Two armies stand beside their silent guns, 
And watch the river, where it winding runs 

39 



Among the meadows ; stand, but do not fight — 
Their chieftains have in conquest lost delight. 

No more mad hate wells upward from its springs, 

And envy now has lost its bitter stings ; 

No eyes are bright, nor are there lips found sweet ; 

There are no trysts where lovers haste to meet ; 

The suitor turns him from the half-won kiss, 

There is no gladness left him even in this; 

Cold are the pleasures that were once so dear, 

And words like home and wife have lost their cheer. 

There is no prize can quicken the slow breath, 

Save the chill smile of swift approaching death. 



40 



EARTH, SPACE, AND TIME 

The cold, dense darkness of oblivion clings 
To distant ages, when bewildering heights 
Shone radiant in creation's primal lights, 

When earth saw -rising from her hidden springs, 

Chaotic germs, the shimmer of bright wings, 
The gloom of mastodons, the myriad mites 
That grew through centuries to nobler flights, 

The formless shadows of sublimest things. 

The countless worlds that roam celestial space, 
Are lonely as they swing their paths along. 
Who thinks of this with slow, deliberate breath ? 

The years that lie so heavy on earth's face, 
Are as a second to the years that throng 
The limitless life beyond the sleep of death. 



4i 



PASSION LIFE 

Say, Sweet, that stars were fallen from their places, 
That one vast silence filled creation's pale, 

And sombre gloom lay heavy on our faces, 
Would love our spirits fail ? 

Would we sit desolate, and cold, and lonely, 
And not out-reach to grasp each others' hands ? 

But clinging to ourselves and sorrow only, 
Moan in the stricken lands, 

And losing all the subtle warmth that blesses 
When lips are harvesting Love's ripened grain, 

Sink shuddering in the chill, the grim caresses 
Of restless, burning pain ? 

And were we, Sweet, in rounded grave mounds lying, 
With roots of willows winding through our forms, 

Hid from the sad wind's wild and weary sighing, 
The rush of biting storms, 

Would no words pass between us in those regions, 
Through narrow ways, by nature's forces made ? 

Would not our passion-throbs, in countless legions, 
Sound through the heavy shade, 

42 



Till, palpitant with heat, the sods that cumber 
Our listless limbs would break from them away, 

And our two souls, free from the pulseless slumber, 
Meet in the joyous day ? 

Say, Sweet, that we were separate by distance, 

You, born into an everlasting light, 
I, compassed by strong bonds, whose fierce resistance 

Held me in hideous night, 

Would you forget to sound the shining reaches 
Lying between us, with a song, whose tone 

Would echo clear along the barren beaches, 
The forests, tempest blown, 

Till I should hear it through the darkness sweeping, 
And strong with gladness break my galling chains, 

And up the trackless air go swiftly leaping 
Toward your sunlit plains ? 

Ah, Sweet, there are no sea-caves dim and hollow, 
No purple altitudes of star-bright space, 

Where, if you went, I would not quickly follow, 
To find your woman's grace. 

And were I swept through swift and bitter stages, 
Across wide masses of waste land and sea, 

Still would your love, through multitudes of ages 
Roam tireless, seeking me. 



43 



LLIANAS 

Swung down in brilliant cluster or quaint festoon, 
Your crimson bells drape pendulous drooping trees, 
Where-through cool winds, from far, wide tropic seas, 

Sing slow and low some wild, weird tempest rune, 

While deep in your sweet wells, with lazy croon, 
Delighted linger great, gold-dusted bees, 
Who drain your honied nectar to the lees, 

And feast till warned home by the rising moon. 

On old, gray ruins, glooming lazy streams, 
Your color burns as bright as in lost years, 
When in your shadow, love fond vows would speak : 

Your blooms have seen the sunlight's torrid beams 
Shine on keen swords, and glitter in hot tears, 
When warriors gathered round some dead cacique. 



44 



OBLIVION 

Above bright orient seas, sun-kissed, arise 

The legend haunted isles, in whose dim groves 
The ghouls and genii sang their burning loves ; 

Whose forest paths are rich with fragrant sighs 

Of winds that lingering pass, where sleeping lies 
The glittering cobra, or where softly moves 
The lithe, sleek tiger, whose fierce blood-thirst proves 

The minister of death and swift surprise. 

There, sad and sleep-oppressed, the weary slave 
Sinks into dreams, where fallen orange blooms 
Lie like white stars amid the odorous shade, 

And mighty ruins mark an empire's grave. 

What nations slumber in those verdurous glooms ? 
How soon shall we to such oblivion fade ? 



45 



OCTOBER 

Bending beneath his load, October comes, 
With dreamy depths of gray blue sky, 

And smoke wreathes floating over quiet homes 
That in the valleys lie. 

Among the few lone flowers, the honey bees 

Roam restlessly, and fail to find 
The summer morning dew's rich perfumed lees, 

June's roses held enshrined. 

The purple grapes hang ready for the kiss 
Of red lips, sweeter than their wine ; 

And through the turning leaves they soon will miss 
The crimson apple's shine. 

Lazily through the soft and sunlit air 
The great hawks fly, and give no heed 

To the lithe songsters, that toward the fair, 
Far lands of summer speed. 

Along the hills, wild asters bend to greet 
The roadside's wealth of golden rod, 

And by the fences, the bright sumachs meet 
The morning light of God. 

46 



Slowly the shadows of the clouds drift o'er 

The hillsides, clad in opal haze, 
Where butterflies now seek the fragrant store 

Of flower-sprent summer days. 

All clad in dusted gold the tall elms stand 

Just in the edges of the wood, 
And near the chestnut sentinels the land, 

And shows its russet hood. 

The maple flaunts its scarlet banners, where 
The marsh lies clad in shining mist ; 

The mountain oak shows in the clear, bright air, 
Its crown of amethyst. 

Where, like a silver line, the sparkling stream 
Winds, murmuring, through the meadows brown, 

Amid the golden glory, like a dream 
A sail-less boat floats down. 

All day and night rare beauty seems to fold 
The wide land, where October stands 

With leaves of green and scarlet, brown and gold, 
Fa*t falling from his hands. 

His is the presence that with gladness crowns 
The long, long days of toil and care, 

His bright smile shining where November frowns, 
With snow-rime in his hair. 



47 



JUBILATE 

I read a song whose strain was high, 
A dirge, so full of sob and cry 

It made my soul sway with its sound ; 
And yet, whene'er I cast my eye 

Out where the hills, with sunlight crowned, 
Rose up against the purple sky, 

I thought, why moan, and sing so sad, 

When all the world was bright and glad : 
And lo, the song gave no reply. 

The swift years come, the swift years go ; 
The winter brings its drifting snow ; 

The spring its wealth of fragrant bloom ; 
And summer's golden grain-fields glow ; 

And autumn's store makes rich perfume ; 
While bright and fast the rivers flow, 

And robins fill the wood with song, 

And sorrow fades, and joy grows strong ; 
Sure bliss has wider realm than woe. 

Ah, mother earth, so good, so great, 
Why should we quarrel with our fate ? 

You hold us safely in your hand ; 
We can do nothing else but wait, 

And see your beauty clothe the land ; 

48 



And when you open wide the gate, 
Beyond which lie the mystic days, 
And upward tending, sunlit ways, 

Then will we grasp the future state. 

Swift as the meteor's lurid flight, 
That through the distances of night 

Flashes a moment, and is gone, 
So sorrow comes and blasts delight, 

But like the meteor goes on 
And quick has passed beyond our sight : 

And shining like a steadfast star, 

Joy sends her gladsome light afar, 
To make sad eyes grow strangely bright. 

Like ghosts of dreams the dead years sweep 
On through that vast, unfathomed deep, 

Where bright stars sing their anthems grand, 
Why should we for their sorrows weep ? 

Each one is but a grain of sand 
In centuries that safely keep 

All that the world has lost or won : 

In some far land beyond the sun, 
Ripen the harvests love will reap. 

From skies with brilliant stars bestrown, 
I hear the songs of joy, wind blown 

Down through the boundless realms of space ; 
And vague, like some dim undertone, 

Sounds the low voice of that sad race, 
Storm-tossed about a barren zone, 

Who shun the radiant opal sea, 

And grope where the cold shadows be, 
Cast out from ages that have flown. 
7 49 



Where brooding darkness, cold and vast, 
Holds sorrow, sweeping in wild blast 

Round gloomy planets, vexed with loss 
Of light and love, and over-cast 

By dense, black clouds that fret and toss, 
As distant stars sail grandly past, 

The dead years roll; there burning tears, 

And hunger fierce, and looming fears, 
Like giants gather grim and fast. 

Earth, rich in regal years, and strong 

With manhood, soars where great spheres throng 

Heaven's spacious ways ; and while it hears 
Murmurs of battles fought with wrong, 

Echoes with hope's triumphant cheers, 
And swiftly swings its way along : 

And far, where vast worlds hang remote, 

In billowing waves doth outward float 
The joyous gladness of its song. 



5° 



A THUNDER STORM 

Heavy and black, along the western hills 

The low clouds hang ; their ragged upper edge 
Touching the sun, that sends a golden wedge 

Down through the dark; a thunder echo fills 

The heated air ; the birds sing in soft trills ; 
A wind wave shakes the river's reedy sedge, 
And stirs the bushes on the beetling ledge ; 

Then moaning storm-sobs every movement stills. 

The clouds roll o'er the sun : the sturdy trees 
Bend to the fury of the surging blast ; 
A fierce, red flash shines on the sombre plain ; 

Then down the slopes, like high, foam-crested seas, 
That on some rocky coast beat hard and fast, 
Comes the wild tumult of the rushing rain. 



Si 



OFF LABRADOR 

The storm-wind moans through branches bare, 
The snow flies wildly through the air, 

The mad waves roar as fierce and high 
They toss their crests against the sky. 

Dark and desolate lies the sand, 
Along the wastes of a barren land, 

And rushing on with sheets flung free, 
A ship sails down from the northern sea. 

With lips pressed hard the helmsman stands, 
Grasping the spokes with freezing hands, 
While white the reef lies in his path, 
Swept by an ocean full of wrath. 

The surf-roar in the blast is lost, — 
The foam-flakes by the wild wind tost 
High up in air, no warning show, 
Hid by the driving mass of snow. 

With sudden bound and sullen grate, 
The brave ship rushes to her fate ; 

And splintered deck and broken mast, 
Make homage to the roaring blast. 
52 



Amid the waves float riven plank, 
And rope and sail with moisture dank, 
And faces gleaming stern and white, 
Shine dimly in the storm-filled night. 

By some bright river far away, 

Fond hearts are wondering where they stay, 
Who sleep along the wave-washed shore 
And stormy reefs of Labrador. 



S3 



IN THE GOLDEN AGE 

The sad winds, the cold winds are sighing, 
Where weary and panting for breath, 

The old years, the dim years are lying, 
With silence, and darkness, and death. 

" With wild war, and red war, and weeping, 
With carnage and trumpets we came, 
And swift steeds and dread steeds went leaping 
Mid slaughter, and famine, and flame." 

So sing they, so moan they, as roaring 
Through tempest, and thunder, and night, 

The great waves, the storm waves come pouring, 
Earth's barriers of granite to smite. 

Who hears them ? who fears them ? They perished, 

Their glory and greatness has fled ; 
The mad hate, the hot hate they cherished 

On poisons and sorrows was fed. 

The keen swords, the sharp swords hang idle, 

The ramparts are grassy and still, 
And rich loves, and pure loves now bridle 

Man's stubborn, fierce longing to kill. 
54 



By hard toil, and strong toil, and striving, 
Through dangers, and vengeance, and gloom, 

The bright lands, the wide lands are thriving, 
And growing in gladness and bloom. 

With sweet clang, and loud clang, the chiming 
Of knowledge, and peoples sweep by ; 

And vast thoughts, and high thoughts are climbim 
The shining blue splendors of sky. 

O weak hearts, O faint hearts, your shrinking, 
Your mourning and slander must cease, 

For long days, and clear days are drinking 
Bright vintage of wisdom and peace. 

The grand earth, the fair earth is pregnant 
With promise, and purpose, and might; 

And brave souls, and true souls are regnant, 
By daring, and battle, and right. 



55 



SONNETS 
Antiques 



VENUS 

This is the face that shone when Greece was free, 
And haloed by gray cloud or foaming wave, 
Thrilled coward hearts, and made them strong and 
brave ; 

For love that ruled supreme, love whose degree 

Was greater than the greatest kings could be, 

Glowed in the eyes whose brightness was the grave 
Of wise resolves, that should poor mortals save 

From this imperial goddess of the sea. 

The cool, sweet freshness of the sunlit deep, 

Lay warm and tender on her cheek's soft flush, 
And made delicious her rich, fragrant breath : 

Ah, how can such enchanting beauty sleep, 
Where sombre shadows fill the eternal hush, 
That lies so heavy on the land of death. 



PROSERPINE 

Ah, Proserpine, the gods were good to you, 

Though Pluto held you in his drear domains, 
For it was love who bound you in soft chains, 

Making the Styx glow with translucent hue, — 
56 



And Hades' cavern roofed with deepening blue, — 

And Death's sad king, grand by the bitter pains, 
That smote the dwellers on his arid plains, — 

And Cerberus a faithful slave and true. 

The violets that gemmed Sicilian vales, 

The nightingales there murmuring to the rose, 
The crimson wine that once your lips had known, 

And Pan's sweet pipings sounding down the gales, 
Faded along the mist where Lethe flows, 
When your fair beauty glorified hell's throne. 

in 

SAPPHO 

Calm with the burden of a great despair, 
Amid the starry glory of the night, 
Her clear eyes full of death's mysterious light, 

The moonbeams wandering through her yellow hair, 

Her royal beauty shining cold and fair, 

While far away dim sails show soft and white, 

And fragrant winds moan 'round the beetling height, 

She hears the sea's low sobbing fill the air. 

Ah, sorrow fierce, and throbs of biting pain, 
Oft have the bright eyes, now so sad and dry, 
Swayed by love's bitter gladness filled with tears, 

But never more will passion's color stain 
The bloodless cheeks, or kisses wake reply 
From lips grown cold with waiting through long years. 

IV 
CLEOPATRA 

Beneath a glorious light, that fondly lies 

On ruined temples, and wide sweeping sand, 
The Nile, gold fretted, lingers through the land. 

Once, long ago, your eager, hungry eyes, 

8 57 



With youth's glad wonder, sought the purple skies, 
Across the fields where graceful palm-trees stand, 
And saw the pyramids, superbly grand, 

Silent and massive from the desert rise. 

Then mighty fleets, alight with gleaming steel, 
And veteran legions rich in wealth of scars, 
Were freely offered for your rapturous kiss : 

Your luring smiles made earth's vast empires reel, 

And when your eyes shone out like cloud-set stars, 
Heaven had no light could make men turn from this. 



ZENOBIA 

The tawny sands girt high thy ruined fanes, 
Bronzed with the hot sun's burning torrid gold, 
And lonely are the courts, once wont to hold 

The wise and brave, held in thy beauty's chains : 

Where orchards bloomed, the sterile, thirsty plains, 
For countless leagues in weary sameness rolled, 
Sweep wide and desolate. The desert's fold 

Now hides the glory of thy fair domains. 

Yet thou in memory hast a holy place, 

And kindly have the hard years dealt with thee, 
While making havoc in thine earthly home : 

In cherished dreams we see thy noble face, 
Fair as the Grecian goddess of the sea, 
And grand with fire that dared the power of Rome. 

VI 
ON AN ANCIENT ROMAN COIN 

How long the years since you were fair and bright ? 
In what dim vault have you been hid away, — 
Coming with air antique to our clear day 

From out vast centuries of silent night? 
58 



Ah! how your glow gladdened a weary sight 

In times remote, when earth beheld the sway 
Of some great Caesar, scarred in many a fray, 
And marshaled countless legions to the fight. 
Perhaps a soldier, marching out from Rome, 
Gave you a token to his chosen fair, 

And ne'er came back to claim you his again ; 
Or you were left to guard some lonely home 
From fierce attack of hunger, want, and care, 
By a tanned sailor bound across the main. 



59 



ACCURST 

Devoid of love, bereft of hope, 
Companioned by a vague despair, 

He roams where blinded spirits grope 
O'er deserts hot and bare. 

The narrow path is rough and hard, 

And desolate the dreary land ; 
Hills glittering with flinty shard, — 

Plains swept by burning sand ; 

Low clouds, through which swift lightnings play, 

Freighted with never-falling rain, 
Shroud cities crumbling in decay, 

Whose gates he cannot gain. 

His slow steps pass like throbs of fate 
Where grinning skulls in thousands lie, 

Mute records of remorseless hate, 
Staring toward the sky. 

Through darksome valleys, to the shore 
Bestrewn with long-forgotten wrecks, 

Damp, slimy weeds the only store 
Between their rotten decks. 
60 



Down silent hollows of the sea 
He floats, a horror-haunted thing, 

Tide-swept past many a wide degree 
Where long, dank grasses cling. 

He feels the earthquake's mighty throe, 

Sweep shuddering through the sombre waves, 

And drifts where languid currents flow 
In deep, far-reaching caves. 

Dim caves, where shapes gigantic loom 
In darkened depths of lucent green, 

And cast a weird and ghostly gloom 
The sunken ships between. . 

Then slowly he revolves again, 

Where, with wind-tossed, disheveled locks, 
Wild faces, white from ceaseless pain, 

Fade down the sloping rocks. 

Flung far along a trackless space, 
Where lurid stars with flames alight, 

Swing thundering in an endless race, 
Through realms of doleful night ; 

Grand visions, lit by faces rare, 
Gleam for a moment on his sight, 

And then red fires in fierceness glare 
On some demoniac fight. 

There luring phantoms, saintly fair, 
With passionate, love-throbbing zones, 

Show, as he clasps their amber hair, 
A mass of rattling bones. 

61 



So through long days, and years that grow 
Bitter from loss of hope and trust, 

And heavy with their load of woe, 
He seeks for death and dust. 

But time's decay is not for him — 

The ages that resistless roll, 
Have no nepenthe that can dim 

The anguish of a soul. 

The countless centuries that hold 
Dead worlds to their oblivion tost, 

Like short years, keen, and drear, and cold, 
Speed py and leave him lost. 



62 



RECORDING 

A summer gloaming lit by one pale star, — 

When crickets' songs the night's weird echoes woke, 
And katy-dids sent their sharp notes afar 

From out the coolness of a spreading oak, 
Now fills my soul with memories most sweet : 

The light-house gleamed, a flame crowned sentinel, 
And where the lines of earth and ocean jneet, 

The long, low rollers softly rose and fell. 

Then, from the mist that hung above the sea, 

Like a gold cresset full of amber light 
The broad moon came. Above a bending tree 

A floating cirrus showed its snowy white, 
And coming with the moon and growing strong, 

The cool night wind ran o'er the heated ground, 
Making the low waves murmur into song, 

Through broadening circles of melodious sound. 

Who counts his life in fleeting hours and days, 

Makes sad mistakes ; but by sweet scenes like this 
We should keep record of its devious ways, 

And use for stops a hand clasp, or a kiss. 
Ah, what are all the years to that short hour, 

When only one pale star in heaven outshone, 
And sent its thin light wavering o'er the flower,- 

Dew-gemmed and sweet, that sealed you mine alone ! 

63 



IN MOUNTAIN SOLITUDES 

Vast crags of granite, piled in rugged mass 

Above a foaming cataract, whose roar 
Thunders along the solitary pass ; 

Dark, towering pines, that cast their shadows o'er 
Abysses that seem fathomless, where sleep 

Impenetrable glooms, thick, heavy, cold, 
That in their centuries of silence keep, 

Shadows that when man came were bent and old. 

A darksome cave, wind haunted, and below 

A deep lake lying like a mirror, where 
Show with their crowns of never-melting snow, 

The mountains that above it pierce the air ; 
And far beyond these, poised on tireless wing 

A solitary eagle, whose keen eye 
Watches a panther, all prepared to spring 

Upon a dun deer that is grazing nigh. 

Up from the hills, like mad waves wildly driven 

Upon a shaggy, wreck-strewn reef, the clouds 
Roll fast and furious o'er the western heaven, 

Robing the distance in wide, flowing shrouds ; 
And low the muttered thunder gruffly speaks, 

While swift along the surface of the plain 
The wind gust flies, and from the darkness breaks 

The lurid lightnings, linked in living chain. 
64 



On moves the clouds. The panther makes his spring, 

The affrighted deer sinks quivering in his hold, 
And as he grimly to its throat doth cling, 

The crags light up with a fierce flash of gold, 
And stricken by a thunder-bolt he lies. 

The rain comes rushing through the valleys low, 
The eagle screams, and slowly circling, flies 

Still higher up into the sun's bright glow. 

The storm sweeps past ; the high peaks grow alight 

In the clear glory of a noonday sun; 
The roaring cataract, with added might 

Between its boundaries of rock doth run ; 
Into the darksome cave the water sends 

A radiance, making it grow wan and gray, 
And where the sunlight with the shadow blends, 

Lies the dead panther and his bleeding prey. 



65 



WIND 

I come from the boundless realms of air 

That men call the sky, 
And was born, where planets great and fair 

Roll in thunder by. 

The low, sad wail of a million prayers, 

The murmur of tears, 
I have carried far through golden airs, 

And a host of years. 

I have kissed the breath from countless flowers, 

And the fragrance borne 
Where weary souls, through the silent hours 

Watched for slow-paced morn. 

I have seen great ships in storm-vexed sea 

Swiftly sink from sight, 
And their crew's last death-cry swept with me 

Through the shades of night. 

Where the sunlight glides the mountain, crowned 

With unmelting snow, 
Where shadows of ages lie, safe bound, 

In the vales below ; 
66 



Through tropic glory and northern gloom, 

In the night and day, 
Over bridal blossoms, and grassy tomb, 

There my footsteps stray. 

Where the reaper plies his fruitful task, 

Amid bending wheat, 
And where strong-limbed, sleepy tigers bask 

In the noonday heat ; 

Where war's battle carnage strews the ground 

With the spoils of death, 
And where sweet, low words of love abound, 

You will feel my breath. 

Men pray for me, where the desert's sweep 

Like a brown sea lies, 
And fear my songs, when I roam the deep, 

Under wild storm-skies. 

From the days when chaos ruled the world, 
I have roamed through space ; 
I will be, when spheres are rent and hurled 
From their star-bright space. 



67 



A SPRING MORNING 

The virginal lights of day flash up 
The lustrous blue of the eastern sky ; 

The dewdrops gleam in the violet's cup, 
And the robin's song drifts by. 

The cold, deep sea, on the shining sands, 
In murmurous cadence comes and goes, 

And visions of flower-sweet, tropic lands 
Are born from its tidal flows. 

As opal and gold its waters tinge, 

And tall sails loom from the shadows grim, 

The first sun-gleam parts the eastern fringe 
Of waves, where the gray gulls swim. 

And fragrant and rich the apple blooms 

Swing down from the knarled and mossy boughs, 

And amid the clover's purple glooms 
Brown bees hold a high carouse. 

On sloping hillsides, in meadows low, 

The new grass bends to the southern breeze, 

And anemones raise their stars of snow 
From the foot of bosky trees. 



And far away, like a radiant dream, 
The winding river its glimmer shows ; 

And nearer at hand the pastures gleam 
With the white of daisy-blows. 

And fair with blossoms, and glad with song, 
The morning comes through the misty haze, 

And swiftly the mountain crests along 
Its amethyst glory plays. 



69 



KISMET 

I walk alone with sad, neglected ghosts, 

Vague shapes of promise that were once to be 
The golden-freighted ships that sailed the sea, 
Bearing my treasure from far distant coasts. 
I hear the merry laugh, the jubilant toasts 
That in my halls rose musical and free. 
Ah ! but those days were happy days for me, 
And I had loving friends in countless hosts. 

They say the ships were wrecked on some cold shore: 
Where are the friends who held my love so dear? 
For neither friends or ships are now my own. 
How false the vows that red lips softly swore : 

How false the hopes that filled my soul with cheer 
For through life's sombre paths I walk alone. 



70 



IN NOVEMBER 

The flowers are dead, the regal, fragrant flowers ; 

And fled the blithesome robins whose sweet song 
From early morn made glad the fleeting hours, 

When sunlit days were long. 

The sable crow wings slowly o'er the hill, 

His harsh call sounding through the frosty air ; 

The meadow sweeps are brown-clad now, and chill ; 
The trees are gaunt and bare. 

The barn-fowls cluster where the low-hung sun 

Makes the earth warm beneath the slanting eaves ; 

The roadway paths are russet-robed and dun, — 
Thick-strewn with fallen leaves. 

The sky is gray, the sunlight falls across 

The distant mountains, thin, and white, and cold, 

Not radiant beams, that forest ways emboss 
With shifting flecks of gold. 

Amid the orchards harsh winds come and go, 
And wild and high the songs they roughly sing; 

And smitten with the chill of coming snow, 
The trees stand shivering. 

7* 



Sharp ring the axe-blows on the mountain side, 
And thundering falls the tall and sturdy oak ; 

Soon will its form flame on the hearthstone wide, 
And fade away in smoke. 

No more the buckwheat blooms bend in the breeze, 
No more the clover blossoms lowly sway, 

No more we hear the honey-ladened bees, 
Boom on their homeward way. 

No lowing kine in upland pastures stand, 

When evening's gold shows the faint gleam of stars, 

Patiently waiting for some friendly hand 
To open wide the bars. 

The storm wind flings its banners up the sky, 

And rushing from the Northland's realm of snow, 

Its tempest-notes where great woods tower high, 
To louder murmurs grow. 

Where late we met October's sunny smiles, 
By yonder flowing river's silver gleam, 

Along the hill and through the forest aisles, 
November's garments stream. 



72 



A PASSION PICTURE 

Your little mouth glows like a rose most rare, 
And ringing melody the words it saith. 
Your eyes outshine those Queen Elizabeth 
Hated because they were than hers more fair. 
The purple darkness of your lustrous hair, 
Its subtle fragrance, rich as lily's breath, 
Whose royal sweetness swoons the bee to death, 
Clings round your brow, and makes an aureole there. 
In perfumed damask flushes your round cheek, 
Where dimples flutte* like kiss-luring charms ; 
And dainty lips reward the spirit's fire : 
This is the one great empire that I seek, 

The fond enthrallment of your clasping arms, 
And love that thrills me with its great desire. 



73 



A GHOST 

One, walking through drear wastes of sand, 

Saw by the lonely way, 
A ghost that loomed above the land, 

Mocking the sunlit day. 

An antique column, quaintly wrought, 
With symbols weird and strange, 

By men long faded from our thought 
Through time's relentless change. 

The songs of love, and joyous cheers 

Of some forgotten age, 
Had echoed round it for long years, 

A sad, sweet heritage ; 

And winds of sunny shores had told, 

By which the bright seas roll, 
Till its cold silence seemed to hold 

The yearning of a soul. 

With fierce, imperious, voiceless scorn, 

It bitter question made, 
Of some bright, blossom, fragrant morn, 

And dreamy orchard shade, 



74 



When priests in solemn pageant crept, 
Through temples cool and dim, 

And down the marble distance swept 
The cadence of a hymn. 

Then from the banks of rippling streams, 

Spread far the fruitful plain, 
And the warm sun's resplendent beams 

Lay on the bending grain. 

And now where once a city fair 

In stately grace had grown, 
It rises in the desert bare, 

A shaft of sculptured stone. 



75 



ANNIHILATION 

The great red sun glows like a thing accurst; 
Along the east the sailless ocean lies. 
Wide sweeping, with low waves that sink and rise 
In utter weariness. The bare hills thirst, 
For the fierce floods that once were wont to burst, 
With lightning's flash, in answer to their cries, 
Their thunder tones far echoing in the skies. 
The plains that shone in morning's light immersed, 
Rich with the glory ripened harvests gave, 
And silver fretted by a thousand streams, 
Now brown and lifeless merge in lurid space : 
Some withered reeds in ghostly breezes wave, 
And skeletons of leaves float like lost dreams, 
Above the dead world's sad and silent face. 



76 



TRIUMPH 

Within an ancient city of the east, 

A crowded place, girt with a massive wall, 

And loud with traffic and the sound of toil, 

A woman reigned : so fair she was, so wise, 

That all the nations echoed with her praise, 

And kings whose wide lands held both night and day 

Bent low as suitors by her crimson throne. 

Years came and went, and still she reigned alone, 
For she was hard and cruel in her love, 
Asking for more than any cared to give ; 
But all the while her people grew in wealth, 
And power and wisdom, for her subtle care 
Built in their hearts the bulwark of her strength, 
And what she said, to them was highest law. 

At last there came a time, when from the crowd 
A slave, whose birthplace was some northern land, 
Stood forth and said : — 

" Fair Queen, your love I ask, 
For lo, I love you with a passion, strong 
As death and pain." 

" As death and pain ? " she cried, 
" Beware ! your words but set the doom that comes 
To hide you from the sun, its life and light. 
Seize him ! " 

77 



The guards who ready stood, made haste 
To do her wish, but with a scornful laugh 
He shook them off. 

" You see, oh Queen ! " he said, 
" How easy were escape, but do your will, 
Your word is law to me in life and death : " 
And then he passed from sight, and no one knew 
Where he was held, or what had been his fate. 

There came a messenger one summer day, 
Making his low obeisance, and he said, 
" Oh, Queen ! my master, ruler of the lands 
Wave-girt and fair, that lie toward the east, 
Comes in his ships to crave a boon of you. 
His are the realms of fragrance and of gems, 
Swart Java and Sumatra, Borneo, 
And all the lesser groups where pearls lie hid, 
And spice and fruit perpetual harvest make, 
And there is not an hour devoid of bloom. 
His arms are mighty, and his fleet have sailed 
Down to that lowest level of the sea 
Where winds are never still, and biting cold 
Holds an unceasing reign ; but what his suit, 
Fair Queen, I leave for him alone to tell, 
And simply ask an audience for my King." 

The boon was granted, and with noise of drums, 
With blare of trumpets, and that pompous state 
Which girds an Orient ruler like a wall, 
His sovereign came, and after many days 
Made loud with pageants and the din of crowds, 
Besought her grace. 
78 



His great ships thronged her port, 
His retinue an army was, all brave 

With gold-wrought trappings, and with flags, which bore 
A blazon of the battles he had won ; 
Yet still the same her question — 

" Would his love 
Hold her as ample guerdon for the lands 
That owned him king ? Would he give up for her 
The power and glory of his tropic realm ? " 
And when he answered no, she bade them bring 
The stalwart slave whose love had braved her wrath. 

Up from a dungeon, dark as are the nights 

Wherein there is no wind to rend the cloud 

That lies low down along a wasted land, 

A land whose trees grow from a waveless flood, 

They brought the man : and rising from her throne 

She stood before him, fair as morn, and sweet 

With all the perfect bloom of womanhood, 

A golden serpent on her slender wrist 

Held in its mouth a ruby red as blood, 

A loose white robe fell downward to her feet, 

Clasped at the waist by one resplendent gem, 

And through it shone the glory of a form 

Faultless as are the statues of old time, 

And strong with all the beauteous strength of youth, 

And save these gems, no regal things she wore. 

She told the guards to leave the slave alone, 
Then bade him, as he valued life, recant 
The words of love that he had dared to speak, 
And folding close his arms, his noble form 

79 



Drawn to its utmost height, he hotly cried — 

" Recant my love, and see your face, and feel 

The subtle fragrance of your breathing thrill 

The coldest fibre of my tortured form ? 

See your clear eyes, your mouth, that lures my soul 

To dare a million deaths, if these could bring 

The kiss I crave ? 

Recant ? 

Oh, Queen ! I swear 
There is no pain that man has yet made his, 
Can make me say the words." 

Erect and firm, 
Like some grand statue in a gaping crowd. 
He stood and faced her. 

On his lips, the blood 
His teeth had drawn when stifling back a groan, 
Lay dried and blackened by the heat of pain ; 
And on his brow the veins stood in great knots, 
And his wrenched body showed the rack's fierce clutch, 
In mottled stains that flushed and quivered still. 

There came a mist before her eyes, and then 
Turning unto her stately guest she said — 
" What is your love, oh, king ! to love like this ? 
You will not give the paltry crown you wear, 
The empty symbol of a hollow state 
Which fate may rend from you within an hour, 
For all the hoarded sweetness I have kept, 
Waiting for him who at the last should come, 
And hold my love of earthly things supreme. 
This slave, whose mean estate you so despise, 
Has dared to love me, though grim death stood by, 
Laughed in his face, and clutched him by the hair ; 
80 



And were fierce danger with its hungry sword 
To rise against me, there would come between 
The rampart of his body, and his grave." 

Swift to his side she went and took his hand, 

And led him to her throne, a slave no more, 

For while her warm touch thrilled his blood like wine, 

And made his manhood more than royal seem 

She cried unto her people — 

" See, your King ! " 



81 



QUATRAINS 



i 

LOVE 



An old Egyptian monarch, when his arms 

Had girt the world, or what he knew thereof, 

Wrote on his tomb, " All bow to woman's charms, 
The greatest conquerer of the earth is Love." 



ii 

EARTH 



In storm, and thunder, and lurid light, 

Earth grew to beauty and perfect strength ; 

It will die in the wind and gloom of night, 
When the years have run their length. 



in 

RESULTS 



In life's fair morn I said on yonder height, 

My name will shine where rocks tower high and grand, 

And eastward looms the shadow of the night, 
And all that I have done is writ in sand. 



82 



QUESTION 

Blossoms were on the apple trees, 

The bees were humming in the air ; 
Nature concerted harmonies 

To rob the world of care. 
Down by the meadow stream, we two 

Saw the white clouds their shadows cast 
Along the distant mountains, blue 

And dreamlike as the past. 

We two ! Ah, that was years ago ; 

We thought the two would pass away, 
And that but one the days would know ; 

We thought the gods would play 
Wild songs of melody divine, 

To make the future bright and fair, 
And that the sun of joy would shine 

All times and everywhere. 

Just so a million souls have thought ! 

There came a day when tears were shed, 
And one the world's sad struggle sought, 

And one pined to the dead. 
He longed for fame that kept in sight, 

Yet ever shone beyond his grasp ; 
And she lost all life's hope and light, 

Striving his hand to clasp. 



83 



Well, it was years ago, I said : 

The stream is there, the blossoms flush 
The trees with glory, — she is dead. 

The bees, they do not hush 
Their humming as they seek the sweet. 

I wonder, though, if we two may 
Within the future love and meet, 

And find a perfect day ? 



84 



CLEOPATRA DYING 

Sinks the sun below the desert, 

Golden glows the sluggish Nile, 
Purple flame crowns Sphynx and Temple, 

Lights up every ancient pile 
Where the old gods now are sleeping; 

Isis and Osiris great, 
Guard me, help me, give me courage 

Like a Queen to meet my fate ! 

"I am dying, Egypt, dying!" 

Let the Caesar's army come, 
I will cheat him of his glory, 

Though beyond the Styx I roam. 
Shall he drag this beauty captive 

Where the crowd his triumph sings? 
No! no, never! I will show him 

What lies in the blood of kings. 

Though he hold the golden sceptre, 

Rule the Pharaoh's sunny land, 
Where old Nilus rolls resistless 

Through the sweeps of silvery sand, 
He shall never say I met him, 

Fawning, abject, like a slave; 
I will foil him, though to do it 

I must cross the Stygian wave. 



85 



Oh, my hero ! sleeping ! sleeping ! 

Shall I meet you on the shore 
Of Plutonian shadows ? Shall we, 

Death passed, meet and love once more ? 
See, I follow in your footsteps, 

Scorn the Caesar and his might, — 
For your love I will leap boldly 

Into realms of death and night. 

Down below the desert sinking 

Fades Apollo's brilliant car, 
And from out the distant azure 

Breaks the bright gleam of a star, 
Venus, Queen of Love and Beauty, 

Welcomes me to Death's embrace, — 
Dying, free, proud and triumphant, 

The last sovereign of my race. 

Dying ! Dying ! I am coming, 

Oh, my Hero, to your arms ! 
You will welcome me, I know it, — 

Guard me from all rude alarms ! 
Hark ! I hear the Legions coming — 

Hear their shouts, exultant swell, 
But, proud Caesar, dead, I scorn you ! 

Egypt — Antony — Farewell ! 



86 



LOVE DEATHLESS 

Who claims that death is one cold, endless sleep, 
Has never felt love's gladness in his soul, — 
Has never made a woman's heart his goal, 
Nor from red lips a harvest tried to reap. 
Why should we love if graves are made to keep 
Body and spirit in their calm control, 
While waves of pulseless slumber o'er us roll, 
And centuries unheeded by us sweep ! 

Who solves the mystery held by one sweet kiss, — 
Who reads the song that shines in brilliant eyes, — 
Who gathers wisdom from warm, fragrant breath, — 
He makes eternal love and beauty his, — 
He garners all the glory of clear skies, — 
He lives secure above the call of death. 



87 



SIGNS 

Not with the sound of trumpets, 

Not with the roll of drums, 
Out from the cold and silence 

The great Redeemer comes ; 
But sweeping the dust and ashes, 

The pain and sorrow away, 
He walks through the starlit gloaming, 

And heralds the coming day. 

Not with the storm of passion, 

Not with the wind of wrath, 
You mark, along the moorland, 

The winding of his path ; 
But here by the fragrant blossoms, 

And there by the whispering grass, 
You know the sign of His presence, 

Though you do not see him pass. 

What though the days are weary ? 

What though the hours are long ? 
Still comes the gold of harvest, 

Still comes the joy of song ; 
Yea, and the burden of blessings 

That fall from His open hand, 
Lie soft like a benediction 

All over the sleeping land. 



Out from the toil and watching, 

Out from the barren years, 
Flashes the sun of promise, 

Aye, though we see through tears ; 
And flushing the hilltops yonder, 

And piercing the gloom of night, 
It fills the soul with its glory, 

And gladdens the world with light. 

You who are bound by sorrow, 

You who are held by chains, 
Listen, the call is ringing 

Over the wide, waste plains, 
And He for your love is seeking, 

Ah, not with the wind of scorn, 
But fair with the great fruition, 

And the sun-burst of the morn. 

Life has no time for weeping, 

Earth has no place for dross, 
Ever the new life surges 

Over the graves of loss ; 
And out from His watchful keeping 

The radiant days sweep on, 
Till we to His heart are gathered, 

And pain and watching are gone. 

Not in the rush of battle, 

Not in the winds that smite, 
Not in the roar of tempests 

Wakens his trenchant might, 
But soft in the still night watches 

You hear the sound of His voice, 
" Lo, I am with you forever, 

And the world is glad. Rejoice ! " 

12 



IN RUINS 

The ivy clings to the slow crumbling stone, 

And blooms make glad the half-filled, tideless moat, 
Whose waves once saw broad, stately banners float 

From battlements the swallows claim their own, 

The terrace steps, with gray moss overgrown, 
Where now the toads like lazy topers gloat, 
While warm light mellows each gray mottled coat, 

The touch of dainty feet have often known. 

Brown bats are clinging to the quaint device, 
Telling of some great deed, forgotten long, 
And low winds through the casements lingering pass 

From broken wainscotes peer the timid mice, 

And on the porch a wren makes garrulous song, 
And sparrows chatter in the bending grass. 



90 



A TRIUMPH SONG 

O, summer sweet ! O, summer fair ! 

Now forest ways are dusk and cool, 
And radiant through the sunlit air, 

The dragon-flies dart o'er the pool. 

The heavy heads of bearded wheat, 
Wave slowly, rich with harvest gold, 

And in the orchard's dim retreat, 
The birds a merry council hold. 

The crimson poppy bows its head 

Where late the rose and pink were seen, 

And gladioles, and fuchsias red, 

Burn in the garden's robe of green. 

Where hollyhocks nod in the breeze, 
And clover blossoms lowly bloom, 

The golden-dusted bumble bees 
Revel in honey and perfume. 

The purple swallows circling fly, 

Where ruined stands the ancient barn ; 

The blackbird sends its whistling cry, 
Across the placid mountain tarn. 

9 1 



I hear the chatter of the wren 

Along the vine-clad, tumbling wall ; 

And safe hid in the distant fen, 
The heron wakes his dreamy call. 

Free from the mist of early morn, 

The brooks, through shaded valleys run ; 

The low winds toss the growing corn, 
The wheat fields shimmer in the sun. 

Where, by the v river, willows stand, 
With branches falling long and lithe, 

In level sweeps of meadow land, 

The stalwart mowers swing the scythe. 

The patient oxen lingering pass 
Along the maple-shaded road, 

Or standing, crop the scented grass, 
While men pile high the scented load. 

Each year I seek the sturdy oak 

That crowns the wind-swept, lonely hill, 

And see the city's looming smoke. 
The river flowing deep and still ; 

And lying there, the long years fade, 
And toil and care are all forgot; 

The world lies wide beyond the shade,' — 
Love makes a world of that small spot. 

There, when along the mellow skies, 

Rippled the waves of noontide heat, 
Love's answer came from gray-blue eyes, 
O, summer fair ! O, summer sweet ! 
92 



LIGHT AND DARK 

In far, bright spaces of sun-lighted air, 
My soul went wandering one summer day, 
And saw, in clouds remote, fierce lightnings play 

About huge worlds, whose mountains, high and bare, 

Shone lurid in the never ceasing glare ; 

These swung along a wild tempestuous way, 
Where storm and darkness held eternal sway, 

And high winds roared their loud, unceasing blare. 

Then turning from this vast and troubled scene, 
In purple distances I saw those spheres 
Where life is rich with love, and glad with song ; 

Who could not choose these different worlds between ? 
Give me the light, even though it shine through tears, 
Annihilation is too cold and long. 



93 



THE MINSTREL'S CURSE 

From the German of Ludwig Uhland 

In dim feudal ages, a castle strong and high, 

Where sea and mountain saw it, rose up toward the 

sky; 
Bright fountains flowed about it, and gardens rich with 

bloom 
Made for the haunt of lovers, dusk retreats of fragrant 

gloom. 

Sullen and cold the king who ruled the castle's royal 

state ; 
His heart was hard and cruel, and swayed by wrath 

and hate ; 
And mad delight made bright his eyes, when sorrows 

sweeping flood 
Rose in fierce wail above the corse his fury drenched 

in blood. 

Two minstrels sought the castle, when the western 

heavens glowed 
With the sunset's golden glories. A noble steed one 

rode ; 
About his harp his long gray hair by soft cool winds 

was blown ; 
The fresh young face beside him in evening's splendor 

shone. 
94 



" Now let your sweetest songs be heard," the old man 

slowly said, 
" For goodness cannot perish quite until a heart be 

dead, 
And may we make its mellow tones in melting accents 

roll 
Across the frozen fountains of the tyrant's savage soul." 

Up the great hall with shields ablaze, the minstrels 

proudly came ; 
High on his throne the monarch sat, his eyes with rage 

a-flame ; 
Beside him, fair as sunny morn when earth is glad and 

green, 
Beamed the sweet face and winsome eyes of her he 

called his Queen. 

With light, deft touch, the old man's hands along the 

harp-strings glide, 
And rich and clear the sweet notes come, in ringing, 

joyous tide : 
And mingled with the melody, like dreams that souls 

rejoice, 
Among the gray-beard's deeper tones, rang out the fair 

youth's voice. 

The grim knights gathered closely 'round; too oft their 

feet have trod 
The paths whose foray-carnage marks the way that leads 

from God ; 
And in bright tears the kindness of the fair Queen 

softly flows, 
And from her breast she flings the youth a velvet-pet- 

aled rose. 

95 



Swift in the firelight flashes the king's sword, bright and 

keen ; 
" You have bewitched my chieftains, and dared to tempt 

my Queen," 
He cries — the heavy blade cleaves through the golden 

shadowed air, 
And cold the singer's lips have grown, death's darkness 

dims his hair. 

As leaves by tempests scattered, the warriors turn away, 
Clasped in his comrade's arms, the youth doth still and 

lifeless lay. 
He shrouds him in his mantle, and sets him on his 

horse, 
And sad and slow, into the night, goes with the bloody 

corse. 

Soon he hath reached the portal, the hot tears burn his 

eyes : 
He stops where strong and stately the massy pillars 

rise, 
And shivers there his harp whose tone was sweetest in 

the land, 
Then sends his clear voice ringing back amid the 

crouching band. 

" Woe to you, king ! your castle's hall shall never hear 

again 
A minstrel's voice in night or day, in sorrow or in 

pain ; 
But trembling curses and sad sounds shall haunt it, till 

it lies, 
A shunned and crumbling mass beneath the pity of cold 

skies. 
96 



" Its gardens then shall have no bloom, and birds will 
shun the spot ; 

Even the fame you strive to win by men shall be forgot ; 

And where you ruled, a desert waste will show the san- 
guine stain 

Of one, who based his fleeting power on blood, and sin, 
and pain. 

" O'er all your land, o'er all your deeds, oblivion shall 

fling 
A gloom, and none will know that you were ever hailed 

a king ; 
Build as you may, your dwelling place will swiftly meet 

decay, 
And all that you have done, or made, fade from the 

earth away." 

Where is the castle of the king? No one can show the 

place, 
Of garden's bloom and fountain's flow the years have 

left no trace; 
A single column, fair and tall, that tells of grandeur 

fled, 
From a drear plain, in sunlit air lifts high its carven 

head. 

Here rumor says the castle stood, but none can surely 

say, 
Or what the king's name was, or when he held a kingly 

sway : 
For neither history nor song his glories now rehearse, 
And silence seals the justness of the minstrel's bitter 

curse. 

x 3 97 



TO LOVE TO LIVE AND REMEMBER 

Why weep in the darkness when flame and gold 
Lie up in the west, and the hillsides glow 

With the opaline light along them rolled, 
From the sun that is sinking low ? 

The surge of the storm sweeping far away, 
With its glitter of lightning linked and curled, 

Now dashes its tossing and torrent spray 
Beyond the cold edge of the world. 

And the flowers that bent down before its blast, 
Now open their eyes to the brilliant sun ; 

And from tears by the storm-clouds on them cast, 
A glorious garment is spun. 

And the hope that darkened, when darkness lay 
On the earth like a mantle, comes once more, 

And its clear glance sees through the fading day 
The loom of eternity's shore. 

And the love that was born when morning came 
In crimson and amber along the sea, 

Now has grown a giant no death can claim, 
And sovereign, not slave, will be. 
98 



It can never forget, it can never die, 

Like the marks of time and the bounds of space, 
It is older than earth, than the sun more high 

And has seen God face to face. 

When a soul loves true, then the saints bend down 
From their thrones of light, and life loses tears, 

And immortal made by a kiss, they crown 
It master of all the years. 



99 



SONNETS 

Arms 
i 

ARROWS 

When heavy woods, hung on the beetling steep 
Of mountains rising sheer against the sky, 
Echoed the savage and sonorous cry 
Of some huge brute, roused from his gluttonous sleep, 
Then did your feathery swiftness, whirring, leap 

From strong bows answering to the watchful eye 
And through the palpitant shadows you would fly, 
Your sharp point searching when the heart lay deep. 
The Parthian plains, the red Arabian sands, 
The oak-clad English glades, and islands set 
Like sombre stars in sweeps of argent sea, 
The Amazonian pampas, and the lands 
With Arctic glaciers for a coronet, 

Are rich with graves, whose dead were given to thee. 

ii 

SWORDS 

Who fashioned first the keenness of your blade ? 

Was it swart Nomads by the upper Nile ? 

Or men who dwelt, where, rising pile on pile, 
The palaces of Babylon stood arrayed ? 



Whose hate for you the earliest harvest made ? 

Rude Northmen rushing through some dark defile ? 
Or southern armies, marking every mile 
With sanguine ruin and death's fearful shade ? 
The giants of the world, whose tombs were lost, 
Before the seething waters of the flood 

Rushed down the wide and waste Assyrian plains, 
High up the sunlight your pure brightness tost, 
Then quenched your glory in the rust of blood, 
And all the years are lurid with your stains. 

in 

BATTLE-AXES 

Cumbrous and hard, among the ancient trees, 

That tossed where foaming rivers swept along, 
Flung swift and sure, one sung a deathful song, 
And brought the Indian warrior to his knees. 
Where bluff Norse prows, above the stormy seas 

Met in rude shock, a fierce and mail-clad throng 
With cold, hard hearts, and sinews firm and strong, 
Made their bright keenness whistle down the breeze. 
Now dull and rusted on the castle wall, 

One hangs where droop the banners rent and old, 
The relics of dead years and kingly sport ; 
But smooth it shone when answering to the call 
Of valiant Harry, it crushed through the gold 
That crowned a ducal head at Agincourt. 

IV 
A SPEAR-HEAD 

Once in the bowels of the earth I lay, 

Circled with fire, that fused my different parts 
With all the subtlety of mighty arts, 

Till the pure metal shone amid the clay ; 



Then throes gigantic swept the dross away, 

And like the beating of a myriad hearts 

Busy amid the rush of teeming marts, 

A continent rose pulsing through the spray. 

Years passed, and man came, claiming for his own 

The world, and all that lay within its hold, 

And I was wrought to serve his strength and skill ; 
Shining a spear-head where fierce cries, wind-blown, 
Compassed a brow, whose gleaming crown of gold 
Was the dread sign of Rome's Imperial will. 



AN ORGAN SYMPHONY AT MIDNIGHT 

Low sounding, like the storm-foretelling moan 

That sweeps through forests vast, 
The organ notes swell out with solemn tone ; 

The torch glare, dimly cast 
Along the broad aisle, deepens into gloom, 

Where an old painting keeps 
Watch o'er an alter, 'mid whose sweet perfume 

A pictured Saviour sleeps. 

Slowly the music gathers strength, and rolls 

In bold, swift power along, 
Even as the tempest 'mid the shaggy boles, 

Rises to ringing song. 
And then the chanting comes — "Glory to Thee" 

Sounds echoing up the dome, 
Like the weird voices of the storm-swept sea, 

Sent far through driving foam. 

" Father, Oh, Father ! Hear us f " sounding low 

Then — " Thou art king of all ; " 
Like fierce wind-trumpets, when they whirl the snow 

'Mong trees that bend and fall. 
"Give us Thy loving rest" like soft air blown 

O'er fields of golden grain ; 
Then — " Lord have mercy ! We are Thine alone ! " 
Sounds out like throbs of pain. 

103 



"Be with us ever, hold us in Thy care" 

Like the sad wail of those 
Who see their homes made desolate and bare 

By the mad hate of foes. 
"Give us Thy love, Oh, Lord! Thy love most high! 

Like streams that ripple sweet 
Where green grass grows, and darts the dragon fly, 

Shaded from summer heat. 

" God of our fathers, draw us near to Thee," 

Like leaves that slowly sway, 
Mingled with blossoms, where the booming bee 

On busy wing doth stray ; 
"Help us, Oh, Lord, help us! " like swords that rinj 

Where battle's tumult floats ; 
" Glory to Thee! Our Father, and our King !" 

In loud, victorious notes. 

"Oh! Father! Father!" like a suppliant's prayer, 

Repenting some great wrong ; 
"The earth is Thine; Thy love makes all life fair," 

In high, triumphant song. 
Then slowly, slowly sink the notes, and fades 

The torches' flaring light, 
But still the music echoes in the shades 

That shroud the steps of night. 



104 



GREETING 



TO F. S. S. 



Like one who meets along a desert path, 

Wherein his feet through weary sands have trod, 
Some tiny blossom, or green bit of sod, 
Of former verdure the last aftermath, 
And feels that earth some bright oasis hath, 

Even though in sterile lands his life may plod, 
Some vestige of the footprints of a God, 
Shining amid grain wastes of death and wrath : 
So, friend of mine, your stirring genius shone, 
A glory and a promise grand and high, 
Filling my spirit with divine desire ; 
If you thoughts mountain crests have made your own, 
And with brave face fronted fame's brightest sky, 
My soul to lesser heights may still aspire. 



14 105 



THE BEGGAR'S WISDOM 

Blear-eyed and ragged, by the palace gate 
The beggar, Cyrus, crouching used to wait, 
With sad voice asking for a beggar's alms ; 
And over him the tall and stately palms 
Sang songs of gladness, and the purple doves 
Along the wall cooed out their trustful loves. 
The Caliph, riding by, would often fling 
A coin of gold, or richly jeweled ring, 
Saying — 

" Go, feast, the world is wide and fair, 
Make merry on its wine and sunlit air " : 
Yet saw, when morning shone across the plain, 
The beggar crouching in his place again. 

One day, when silent were the drooping trees, 
And over dewless flowers, the droning bees 
Fluttered on lazy wing, and bearded grain, 
Yellow and heavy, heard no low refrain 
Borne by the wind from where the ocean rolled, 
A waveless waste of changing, sun-made gold ; 
Pausing within the cool and fragrant gloom 
That filled the wide space of his audience room, 
The Caliph saw a shadow vaguely thrown 
Along the court-yard's tesselated stone, 
A shadow whose loose rags and visage lean, 
Told of the beggar ere his form was seen. 
1 06 



So hot the day, so wearisome, even where 
The murmuring fountains cooled the listless air, 
There was no travel in the heated land; 
And empty was the beggar's outstretched hand ; 
Yet calm and patient by the palms he stood, 
Leaning upon his staff of olive wood. 

Wondering, the Caliph cried — 

" Bring Cyrus here " : 
And when he came, so sad, so wan, and sere, 
Looking as though he saw death's visage grim, 
Turned, with its chilling message, full on him, 
The Caliph bowed and said — 

" What cheer to-day ? 
I see no passers in the dusty way ; 
Even my courtiers, a most needy race, 
Have failed to praise the glory of my face ; 
Empty your hand — here, take this gold, and buy 
Wine that will cool your lips, so parched and dry ; 
And tell me why each day your weary form, 
Casts its gaunt shadow through the sun or storm, 
Between the palms ; yes, tell me why you stay, 
Patient and lonely there from day to day ? " 

" Oh, Caliph, have you lived so many years, 
The master of a people's smiles and tears, 
And know not that he who has naught, can reap 
Bright dreams, the glory of night's restful sleep, 
Holding such company with princely state, 
As I have, crouching by your palace gate ? 
You have the weariness, the pain, the care, 
And 1, though clothed in rags, your riches share ; 

107 



Your have the curses when your justice stings, 
The fool you whip his pittance to me flings ; 
You have the danger, and the bitter strife, 
Where is the man who envies me my life ? 
I am a beggar, but I have my wine. 
Say, which is best, your life, O king ! or mine ? 
And daily here beside your gate I stand, 
Glad that I beg, and that you rule the land." 



108 



HOPE 

One standing on a wild and wind-swept beach, 
Saw, far away, the white gleam of a sail, 
A moment saw, and then the furious gale 

Had borne it far beyond his eyes' wide reach. 

Shipwrecked he was, without the kindly speech 
Of fellowmen to mingle with his hail, 
Or aid, when fell despair, with fierce assail, 

Strove his soul's strength and manhood to impeach. 

The place was desolate ; dark, frowning rock 
Rose over valleys full of storm-scarred trees ; 

No shrub or grass made bright the seaward slope, 

Whereon great waves rolled with resistless shock ; 
Yet even amid such dreary haunts as these, 

One light made glad his heart, the smile of Hope. 



109 



THE SPECTRE SHIP 

When April skies are bright with sun, 
And swiftly through the meadows run 
The shining brooks and violet blooms 
Freight sunny nooks with sweet perfumes, 
Along a narrow sandy beach, 
That fronts an ever widening reach 
Of tossing waves, a ghostly sail 
Does battle with a spectral gale. 

Up from the horizon it bears, 
The sunlight through the great hull glares ; 
The rigging strains, the masts are bent, 
From clew to head the sails are rent ; 
And on the dark sides, wet and dank, 
The mad waves toss the riven plank, 
And hoarse command and windy roar 
Speed swift along the curving shore. 

And all the while, the sunlight gleams 
On budding trees, and whispering streams ; 
The fisher boats drift with the tide ; 
The gulls each other softly chide ; 
The wide sea rolls with changing lights 
Amid its depths, and sloping heights 
Show dimly through the opal haze, 
The shimmering green of April days. 



When westward shadows fleck the way, 

Far out amid the misty gray 

That marks the southern water-line, 

The streaming sails like white sprays shine ; 

And swift across the windless deep, 

The huge, black ship her course will keep, 

Sweep past the beach and disappear, 

Fled utterly for one long year. 

Her hull is fashioned quaint and old ; 
Bright is her flag with blazoned gold — 
Four lions rampant on a shield, 
Set high above an argent field, 
Two crossed swords and a double crown, 
And underneath a bastioned town, 
The arms of one whose restless soul 
Was wont to spurn at earth's control. 

Three centuries and more ago, 

So stories say, when winter's snow 

Had melted in the April sun, 

And violets to bloom had won, 

His ship sped fast before the wind 

And left the English cliffs behind, 

Love watched the slow years come and wane, 

But saw no sail rise up the main. 

From out the silence comes no sound, 
To tell us of the land she found ; 
No word has drifted from the deep, 
Wherein her oaken timbers sleep ; 
Only, when in the April skies, 
The golden springtime glory lies, 
This blazoned flag and ghostly sail 
Stream out upon a spectral gale. 



FAME 

One sitting in a cavern by the sea, 

Wrought for long days upon a block of stone ; 
He heard the rhythmic cadences, wind-blown 
From tropic forests, where each giant tree 
Was rich with music ; and these seemed to be 

The spell wherein that form divine was shown, 
Which ruled his dream, a dream his soul had known 
When life was young, and love from sorrow free. 
They set the statue in a temple, where 

The columned aisles were hushed, and dim, and vast, 
And there its glorious beauty shone like flame ; 
And still men call the stone supremely fair, 
But centuries have drifted swiftly past, 

And silence holds the artist and his name. 



MY LADY'S CHARM. 

Let Petrarch sing his lady's clinging hand ; 
And Dante tell of calm, angelic eyes, 
Holding the faultless color of clear skies ; 
Let Shakespeare chaunt, in numbers sweet and grand, 
Of hair that shone like sunlight in the land ; 
And Spenser, of a voice, whose low replies 
Made souls all armed to dare some great emprise, 
Its melody to hold in fond command. 

Yet even these, though mighty singers all, 
Are not the lords to say whose grace is best, 

Nor with their judgment my Love's charms eclipse; 
Ah, but her mouth so dainty is, and small, 
That I secure in this one thing can rest, 

No kiss can match the one given by her lips. 



'5 



JUPITER 

I am like one who stands where rise 

The lone capes fringed with ice, and sees, 
Beneath the cold of sunless skies, 

The great sea stretch its wide degrees : 
Who, watching for some sign of life, 

With chilling blood and languid breath, 
Feels, like the keen thrust of a knife, 

The touch that heralds death. 

The splendors of my youth have flown — 

No more my temples meet the light 
Set, like a deathless monarch's throne, 

Along the crest of some vast height ; 
No more men seek my aid, or hold 

My august presence fair and great. 
Across my realms there long has rolled 

The waves of adverse fate. 

When Typhon and Hyperion stood, 

With strong limbs swelling for the fray, 
Where through the darkness of a wood 

The fierce wind-trumpets sent their bray, 
And I defied their lusty girth, 

And hurled them through unfathomed space, 
Gods hailed me as the lord of earth, 

And glory lit my face. 
114 



To me the Assyrian made his prayer, 

To me the Persian bent the knee, 
And by the Nile, the sunlit air 

Was glad with songs men sang to me: 
The Grecian Phalanx sought my aid, 

The Roman Legion owned my sway, — 
My fierce bolts in the darkness made 

Signs potent with dismay. 

The centuries that passed were mine ; 

I ruled the founts of joy and tears, 
And, like a giant, lay supine 

Along the foam of surging years. 
What need of watchfulness or arms ? 

I held the world within my hands, 
And laughed, when came the low alarms 

From Galilean lands. 

What need of fear for one who bore 

The cross of passion and of pain, 
Where, tossed along a barren shore, 

Life seethed, but could not break its chain ? 
Yet sands are mighty, and their mass 

Drives back the strong and restless waves, 
And when too late I woke, alas ! 

My realm was one of graves. 

And slowly, step by step, my feet 

Have sought the weary lands, that lie 
Where stormy winds in fury meet, 

And fiercely rend the leaden sky. 
Beyond these sinks that vast unknown, 

Where-through great meteors, swiftly hurled, 
Gather the frothing wreck-waifs, blown 

From off the sunlit world. 

"5 



INFINITY 

Lo, I am he, who, looming through the mist 
Of years and centuries, have seen the world, 
Along its narrow circle swiftly hurled 

By laws and forces it could not resist; 

The mighty storms, whose gales have roared and hissed 
Across its face, their black clouds 'round me furled, 
While some great sun, with its rare light impearled 

The windless spaces where bright stars held tryst. 

And I have seen the bloom of countless springs, 
The ripened harvests of unnumbered years, 

The wreck of continents and the death of lands, 

The rounded graves of long-forgotten kings, 
A nation's triumph dimmed by bitter tears, — 
And held fate's lurid lightning in my hands. 



116 



BEES 

When far above the boughs, starred pink and white 

With dainty blooms, the sunlit skies of May, 

In purple altitudes, with fleecy gray 
Of drifting cirrus sailing out from sight, 
Hold for the dreamer visions of delight, 

The bee's boom sounds amid each fragrant spray; 

Then when south winds with June's sweet roses play, 
He seeks their dew filled wells with ready flight. 
And all the year the clover blossoms know 

His busy visits, and the mignonette 
And honey-suckle add unto his store ; 
Well wots he of the buckwheat's swaying snow, 

And lily bells that gleam with rain drops wet 

He haunts, as fairies haunt some sun-bright shore. 



ii7 



SUN-BURST 
i 

Oh, hear you the sound of shouting far over the eastern 
waves, 

The voice of a people calling, " Come, help us, for we 
are slaves" ? 

And see you the banners flying, the sinister glow of 
steel, 

As the hordes of the tyrant gather, and the plains be- 
neath them reel ? 

Why do the valleys of Erin ring with sound of a name 
Once it were treason to utter ? Why are her hill-tops 

aflame ? 
Has the long slumber been broken ? Have the dead 

spoken at last, 
Sending the slogan of battle far on the wild sweeping 

blast? 

Ah, but the years are returning. Time is the righter 

of all. 
He will repay for the slaughter, his voice will answer 

the call 
That loud through the echoing ages, the ages of hatred, 

has told 
How the hand of the slayer has reddened, his heart in 

its anger grown cold. 

118 



" What have we done that is criminal ? Why are we 

holden in chains? 
Where is the blot on our 'scutcheon ? Where, on our 

record, the stains ? 
Have we not stood for our brothers when, like a fierce, 

crimson rain, 
Over and over our bodies surged the red blood of our 

slain ? 

" Who, when our graves grew in number — who, when 

our hearthstones were bare, 
Came with the burden of plenty, strong-limbed, and 

loyal, and fair ? 
Was it the nation that held us ? She who grew rich 

from our spoil ? 
Rich from our courage in battle, rich from our daring 

in toil ? 

" No. In her halls she was feasting. What though we 
starved at her door; 

We, who had beaten her foemen back from her wave- 
beaten shore, 

We had no grain from her threshing, we had no wine 
from her press ; 

Only the scorn of her silence, while the store in our 
hovels grew less. 

" Far over wide leagues of ocean came the white sails 

of the ships 
Bearing the bread that would help us, the wine that 

was sweet to our lips. 

119 



What have we then to be glad for, what have we then 

to repay 
To her who listened unheeding, holding her shut hands 

away? 



" Nothing but hate do we owe her, nothing but battle 

and wrath; 
She who has grown on our hunger, the serpent that 

rose in our path, 
That filled our green valleys with wailing, and stole the 

strength of our lives, 
And left in our desolate dwellings the tears and the 

moaning of wives. 



"Look at the years in their passing — what have they 

given the world ? 
Hope for the gladness of nations, thought at all tyranny 

hurled, 
Freedom for men held in bondage, deeds that were 

kindly and just, — 
Only one land was forgotten, one banner still trails in 

the dust. 



" Nothing have we to be glad for : once we had glory 
and pride, 

Holding the beacon of promise, sending our call far 
and wide ; 

Then when the brightness of morning shone through 
the swift fading mist, 

Loud rose the sound of our progress, song in our val- 
leys made tryst. 

120 



" Say we are hard in our anger ; say that our hands 

have grown red. 
Have we not watched in the darkness, ay, there by our 

murdered dead, 
In the beautiful land that bore us, the land that is ours 

by right, 
Telling our sorrow in whispers, and fearing the gladness 

of light? 

" Ours is the patient waiting ; yes, and ours is the gar- 
nered wrong ; 

We have seen all our bright days darken, and the years 
grow cold and long ; 

We have worked when our hands were weary, but we 
did not reap the gain : 

They have gathered the wheat and comfort, and left us 
the chaff and pain. 

" Yet we do not envy their riches, — let them keep all 

their heavy gold, 
And leave us our ancient birthright, the freedom we 

won of old, 
When the dawning flashed in splendor on the lines of 

our level spears, 
And we charged on the Danish foemen, while the air 

grew loud with cheers. 

" The days of our waiting are numbered, the time of 

our serving past: 
You can hear the braying of trumpets, the roll of drums 

on the blast; 

16 121 



And now when the war clouds gather, let us stand as 

we oft have stood, 
When we held the front of the battle, and the earth 

was red with blood. 

"Oh, men who have seen the sun-burst, the radiant 

coming *of morn, 
Surge over the purple mountains, shining down on your 

bending corn, — 
By the triumph that brought you glory, by the blood 

that made you free, 
Send us now a shout of greeting across the wide reaches 

of sea. 

" For now, when our foe is marching, and the great 

guns dimly frown, 
And the heavy wrath of the tempest on our famished 

land bears down, 
When the lurid light of the bale-fires is gleaming up in 

the sky, 
Far out through the growing darkness, we send you our 

passionate cry." 

in 

Why are the fetters clashing ? And why do the bright 

swords shine ? 
Is there coming another harvest of blood that is red as 

wine? 
Yes; up through the heights of purple you can hear 

the cry, wind-blown, 
Of a people loudly calling to be brought unto their 

own. 

122 



Ah, but the years are returning, and the dead will not 

lie still; 
You can see their garments trailing far along each 

windy hill, 
And the air is full of moaning, and the earth is salt 

with tears, 
And the hate that is strong in battle is the bitter hate 

of years. 

The high waves surge on the headlands, the wild winds 

sweep through the land, 
And the murmurs of strife are rising : who now will 

idle stand ? 
For the tyrants are banded together, they will strike 

again and again, 
And the struggle is that of Freedom, the strong, sweet 

Freedom of men. 



123 



QUATRAINS 
i 

DIFFERENCE 



With heart elate we front the morning sun, 

The leagues are short, our steps are swift and strong: 

How fast the unfruitful years grow, one by one, 
And each new mile, how weary and how long ! 



ii 

LOSS 



Within my path an angel cried, 

"Three gifts I bring, Love, Wealth, and Fame 
Choose" — but he parted from my side 

Ere I my gift could name. 



in 

A MISER 



Lean and unkempt and clothed in rags, 
With eyes that burn, and hands so cold 

They scarce can grasp his money-bags, 
Sits Midas, shivering by his gold. 



124 



A CONCEIT 

When rising like a spirit from the dust, 
Wherein the past has buried all its wrong, 
A fragrant lily woos the morning song 

Of winds that hold the sea's sweet breath in trust, 

Does not that power whose love is pure and just 
Give earth the sign that man has sought so long, 
Saying that souls by noble thought made strong 

Shall regnant be over all sin and lust ? 

We see the golden chalice where the bee 
Gathers his harvest, and the parting rose 
That vibrates with the melody of birds, 

And pass them by, not thinking blooms so free 

May hold with winds, and rain, and drifting snows, 
A legend rich with love's most precious words. 



125 



LOCUSTS 

When, broad and bright, the summer sun rides high, 
And lowly bend the heads of bearded wheat, 
And garden ways with lily-blooms are sweet, 

And fleecy clouds lie in the western sky, 

Then where the low breeze through the leaves doth sigh, 
The locust makes a cool and safe retreat, 
And all the sultry day his chimes repeat 

Their monotone, and meet a quick reply. 

There is a weary sameness in his song, 

Caught from his seventeen dark years of sleep 
In the cold silence of neglected fields. 

How brief a day for night so drear and long ! 
What sombre music earth holds buried deep, 
If this be all the harvest that it yields ! 



126 



PROMISE 

i 

OF LIGHT AND BLOOM 

Dim vales, and voiceless rivers, cold and deep, 
A low, flat coast along a restless sea, 
A sailless wreck that drifts where, far alee, 

Dark, savage rocks in silent grandeur sleep ; 

A lightning-riven pine, crowning a steep, 

Where wind-songs into jubilant thunders rise, 
And weary wastes of leaden-colored skies, 

That over foamless waves sad vigils keep ; 

One glint of gold, that through the sombre mass 
Of gloom drives upward like a gleaming wedge, 
And on the barren facing of a ledge, 

A single bloom, crowning a tuft of grass. 

ii 
of light and song 

Swift rain that beats upon the sodden land, 

A dark, wild night, whose slow hours closely cling 
To swollen streams, and woods that hoarsely sing, 

And great waves rolling on wide sweeps of sand; 

127 



A hollow roar, where, through the waters, run 
The sinuous tracings of blue phosphor flame, 
And like as though from great despair it came, 

The dull reverberations of a gun ; 

A gust of wind up-rising fierce and strong, 
Breaking the low clouds into sullen drift, 
A far white star out-shining from a rift, 

And in the gloom a bird's low matin song. 



128 



A ROSE SONG 

The red rose blooms by the tumbling wall, 

The blush rose bends by the open gate, 
The mocking-bird, with its low, clear call, 

Sings on, though the hour is late : 
The yellow rose like a star shines out, 

The white rose sways, a wan, sweet ghost, 
The beetles boom, and the marshes shout 

The joy of their living host. 

The red rose burns with a crimson glow 

Like wine that gleams when the blood is warm, 
And brings vague dreams of the long ago, 

When the world was wild with storm — 
When a stalwart knight, with lance at rest, 

Drove swift through the battle's angry tide, 
With a red rose bound to his helmet's crest, 

And there in the carnage died. 

The blush rose tells of a distant time 

When the Persian groves were loud with song, 
And camel bells woke a merry chime 

Where the desert paths grew long ; 
When a love-lorn maiden lingering stayed, 

Waiting for one who had grown a-cold, 
Till the rose and she at rest were laid 

In the garden's fragrant mould. 
17 129 



The yellow rose, with its heavy breath, 

Recalls wide forests and dim lagoons, 
Where loathsome serpents keep watch for death, 

In the light of tropic moons ; 
And ruins massive, and grim, and vast, 

In silent grandeur a vigil keep, 
Where the giant kings of a mighty past 

Lie cold in a dreamless sleep. 

The white rose pictures a vision dim, 

Of aisle, and transept, and sculptured saint, 
Where the dying echoes of a hymn 

In distance throb and faint ; 
And shining out, where the arches bar 

The purple gloom of the rounded dome, 
A face that glows like a glorious star 

Set deep in a sea of foam. 

The red rose tosses its crimson spray, 

The blush rose falls in a fragrant rain, 
The mocking-bird, where the cool leaves sway, 

Sings on with his low refrain ; 
The yellow rose with the dew is wet, 

The white rose — where has the white rose flown? 
Ah ! yes ; I made it a coronet 

For a fond love, all mine own. 



130 



BEETHOVEN 

Like resonant winds, sounding amid the trees 
Hanging above cold, rock-strewn valleys, where, 
In cavernous glooms, weird echoes made their lair, 

Rolled out the passion of thy symphonies : 

The mighty chorus of tumultuous seas, 

That tossed white crests, lurid with phosphor glare, 
When heavy night was black with Typhon's hair, 

Made answer when thy fingers touched the keys. 

There are no years, no centuries, for thee ; 
Thy spirit rose beyond the realms of pain, 

Reaching that zone where love holds regal sway ; 

And at the meeting of the land and sea, 
Listening, we hear the murmur of a strain 
No other hand but thine could ever play. 



131 



AT GETTYSBURG 

The Repulse of Pickett's Charge, July 3, 1863 

The flame and the smoke of battle surged over the 
Round Top's crest, 

The whistle of shot, and the rattle of muskets that 
knew no rest, 

The flashing of steel grown gory, the shouting that rose 
and fell, 

Where over the hill-tops hoary went shrieking the vi- 
cious shell, 

Were mingled in wild derision, and faces all sternly 
white 

Shone out as they shine in a vision, as deepened the 
deadly fight. 

We could see, through the vapor lying low down like 
a sulphurous cloud, 

The flags in the long lines flying, where our dead lay 
waiting the shroud, 

We could see the bayonets gleaming, and felt in the 
wind's low breath, 

The cold, damp moisture, seeming like the swift, chill 
kiss of death, ' 

And hands that were hard from labor, where the har- 
vest fields were large, 

Closed firm on musket and sabre, and waited the foe- 
man's charge. 
132 



Then up from the moaning valley, like a wave white- 
crowned with foam. 

While shrill rose the bugles' rally far along the wooded 
dome, 

The foe in his might came sweeping, and the shell 
grew swift again, 

And the riderless steeds went leaping through struggling 
mazes of men, 

And cries that with death were bitter, and blows that 
with rage were keen, 

Were loud where the bayonet's glitter grew red in a 
sanguine sheen. 

Back, back like the tiger bating each step with a hate 
that grieves 

For the hours and the thirst of waiting, and the blood 
on the trampled leaves, 

Back, step by step, while the beating of our hearts grew 
fast and warm, 

And we bent like the tree-tops meeting the fierce first 
rush of the storm, 

Bent, only to rise in passion, and smite with the blows 
that sting, 

As the tiger his foe will dash on with gripe, and clutch- 
ing, and spring. 

Men die, but their deeds are lasting, they shine through 

all the years, 
And nerve us to bear earth's fasting, its sorrow, and 

falling tears, 
And there, while just before us, the foe in his might 

was strong, 

J 33 



Loud sounded the swelling chorus of right that had 

conquered wrong, 
And fast were the swift blows falling where the guns 

were hot with flame, 
For the dead from their graves were calling, the dead 

who had left us fame. 



From the fields of wheat, down-trodden, from the or- 
chards rent and torn, 

From the grass grown red and sodden with the strife 
that woke the morn, 

Men, who had met the waking of the day with eyes 
that shone, 

And hearts that had known no quaking, stared up in 
the death sleep prone ; 

And we who had stood beside them when the rain of 
lead smote hard, 

Now fought for a place to hide them among the sand 
and the shard. 

Swift, swift was the foe, and louder rose his fierce 

triumphant cry, 
And the sulphurous fumes of powder seemed like a pall 

to lie, 
As back to the hills he thrust us in a path where death 

was king, 
And we thought that the cause of justice no strength 

to our arms could bring, 
And still the hot guns bellow, and their flame came 

thick and fast, 
Till the leaves grew wan and yellow in that dire 

sirocco blast. 
i34 



With blows to their blows replying, with swords that 
were swift to smite, 

With vengeance unto us crying, we sprang again to the 
fight, 

And keen was our steel, and ready the answer it gave 
to our call, 

And onward with footsteps steady, we pressed our foe 
to the wall, 

Back, over the path so gory with the blood of our com- 
rades slain, 

But their's, yea, their's were the glory should our flag 
sweep over the plain. 

Like rain by the wild winds driven that leaves neither 

blossoms nor grass 
There where the dead lay unshriven, like a swarth of 

flame we pass, 
Pass, leaving the heights, and holding our way to the 

plain once more, 
With the hot white smoke enfolding the pathway lying 

before, 
And over the fierce, infernal red rush of the strife 

below, 
The pines, with their vesture vernal, are loud with the 

shrieks of woe. 



Who noted the high sun's splendor? who heeded the 

cries of pain ? 
Yea, even though hearts were tender with tears that are 

soft as rain ? 
We were wild with the thirst so olden, the thirst that 

but death can slake, 

i3S 



Or the gift of the fame crown golden, yea, even though 

hearts should break : 
And back, while the blood like water along our pathway 

flowed, 
With horrible carnage and slaughter we drove our foe 

in his road. 

And the guns were fierce, and the thunder of battle 

was loud ift the land, 
Till his line was riven asunder, and weakened his 

ready hand ; 
And we knew, as we heard the cheering that rose as 

we forward rolled, 
That the end of the strife was nearing, and the foe had 

lost his hold, 
Knew, though not a word was spoken, as our way we 

onward bore, 
That the strength of his arm was broken, and the field 

was ours once more. 

The years in their might are growing, like a dream the 

old days come, 
When the battle was 'round us flowing, and we sprang 

to the call of the drum ; 
Each day we are less in number, and our ranks are 

narrowing fast, 
But sweet is the final slumber, now the days of strife 

are past ; 
And never may hate's wide portal be opened again to 

us here, 
For only love is immortal where the light of God shines 

clear. 
136 



QUATRAINS 
i 

ACCOMPLISHMENT 

Great souls oft die, their task half done, 

And in the lowly crowd appears 
A patient and a plodding one, 

Whose perfect work shines through the years. 

ir 

COMPENSATION 

No ceaseless vigil with hard toil we keep, 
And to grim want give but a passing breath, 

For after labor comes the rest of sleep, 

And hunger cannot make its home with death. 

in 

INSPIRATION 

Amid the shadows of a starless night, 

Whose sombre gloom filled all the cheerless place, 
There swept a sudden glory, and the light 

Gave to my soul one sweet impassioned face. 



iS 



137 



THE WIND OF DEATH 

Where mighty ruins, grim and vast, 

With fallen architrave and span 
Mark some dead city of the past, 

The golden sunshine rippling ran ; 
Two giant palms beside a well 

Rose with a stately, solemn grace, 
And, sweet and clear, a camel's bell 

Made echoes in the lonely place. 

A white tent in the shadow gleamed, 

And close beside its open door, 
Above some salt, lance pennons streamed — 

The ready signs of peace and war. 
A neighing horse made answer loud 

To tramping steeds that nearer drew, 
And southward, like 'a rising cloud, 

The sand-storm swept heaven's lustrous blue. 

Silent, upon his well-worn mat, 

With eager eyes and ready hand, 
The Bedouin chieftain, Kaled, sat, 

And watched the widening sweeps of sand. 
He heard the hoofs beside him crash, 

He heard the shouts that bade him rise, 
He saw the swords in anger flash, 
• A cold light shining in his eyes. 
138 



Then springing to his feet, he said, 

In bitter words that cut and stung, 
" Well was it that about his head, 

Ferdullah dust and ashes flung, 
For he had lived to see a horde 

Of hireling slaves debase his name, 
And dared not curse the mighty Lord 

For this sad heritage of shame. 



" You are a hundred men to one, 

And yet I scorn your hoarded wrath, 
Even as yon distant, brilliant sun 

Scorns the black clouds that mar his path. 
Strike — for the words I speak are truth, 

And ere I kneel unto a slave, 
The fame and glory of my youth 

Will rot within a loathsome grave. 

" Strike ! " And his folded arms were clasped, 

His massive head was forward thrown, 
While bearded horsemen fiercely grasped 

Their swords, and sinews grew like stone ; 
Backward they drew in sullen line, 

Ready to charge with fearful might — 
Their pennoned lances grimly shine, 

Their eyes flame with a baleful light. 

Then, like a bolt that drives across 

The sky, with hot and sulphurous breath 

The dread sirocco's sand plumes toss 
About them in a swirl of death : 



i39 



Its roar sweeps down the arid plain 
And in the western distance dies, 

And silence holds unbroken reign 
Beneath the cloudless purple skies, 

Save that the camel bells are sweet 

Beyond the windless palms, and there 
The Bedouin's slow and trembling feet 

Make weird sounds in the heated air. 
And southward, where the level sand 

Had run in an unbroken sweep, 
Low mounds are scattered through the land, 

And hate and wrath beneath them sleep. 



140 



SWEET LOVE IS DEAD 

Sweet Love is dead, — yes, dead and laid to rest. 

Ah, dainty was the fabric of his shroud, 

Cut from the pearly edges of a cloud. 
They placed a fragrant lily on his breast, 
And all the souls his visitings had blest 

Followed him to the grave with heads low bowed, 

Though there were many great, and good, and proud, 
And those by fame and fortune oft caressed. 
Poor Love ! he could not live when golden dross 

Bought the warm kisses that were once his due, 
Paid for the tender clasp of clinging hands, 
And banished the fair flowers that were the bands 

Binding the loving hearts that served him true, 
And so he died — oh, who will tell the loss ? 



141 



FOLLOWING THE CHIEF 

Bright and keen the flashing swords, 
Whose red harvest is the Lord's ; 
Sharp and swift the leaden sting 
Where the whistling bullets sing. 
Yet the tempest touched him not 
In that hurricane of shot. 

Firm as adamantine rock 
In the conflict's wildest shock, 
Watchful, silent, while the strife 
Swept along the ways of life, 
Southward faced, and every day 
Found him farther on the way, 

Where the Mississippi's flood 
Washed away the stains of blood, 
And where Shiloh's restless pines 
Loomed above the tangled vines, 
Where Chattanooga's sombre crags 
Showed war's blazonry of flags, 

And where battle's withering breath 
Filled the Wilderness with death ; 
Onward still his way he bore, 
Through the varying stress of war, 
Sinking, when this brought the end, 
All the foeman in the friend. 



142 



Calm amid the storm of wrath, 

Never swerving from the path 

Where his duty seemed to lead, 

Heedful of the Nation's need, 

Now, when death has brought him sleep, 

All the nations for him weep. 

Down the long embattled line 
Where the glinting bayonets shine, 
Following the muffled drums, 
There our silent chieftain comes : 
Hushed at last the sound of strife, 
Ended all the pain of life. 

We who followed where he led, 
Follow now with measured tread, 
While the banners, drooping low 
With their drapery of woe, 
In the sad winds slowly wave 
By the pathway to his grave. 

Death has vanquished him, they say; 
But we proudly answer, nay! 
Though his eyes have lost their light, 
Though his face is cold and white, 
In our hearts he lives the same, 
And death cannot conquer fame. 



i43 



AT SEA 

Wide sweeps of gold, that stream along the sea 
To where blue water meets the azure sky, 
And break in radiant gems, that floating He 

Upon the waves ; a bird that flies a-lee, 

With all the ocean's vastness to him free ; 
A tall, white sail, that tells the searching eye 
Of fellow mortals who are drawing nigh ; 

White crests, that full of changing glories be ; 

And in the west, a mass of clouds, that rise 

Fringed with the amber light, that through their rifts 
Comes in broad columns ; while, like shadows dark, 

The sea-weed from a reef that far off lies, 
Through the cool silence of the water drifts, 
Fathoms below the swift keel of our bark. 



144 



PUCK 

When summer days are sweet and long, 
And murmuring woods are loud with song, 
Then Puck, across the scented land, 
Wanders with ever open hand, 

And lo, the wheat-fields burn with gold, 
And peaches redden in the sun, 

And grapes a duskier purple hold, 
From changing lights of morning won. 

When scarlet poppies gleam with dew, 
And skies have grown to deeper blue, 
He seeks some mossy cliff, that stands 
Where low waves whisper on the sands, 

And there, while stars above him shine, 
Breathes, through the short, mid-summer night, 

Wind-stolen fragrance of the pine 
That sentinels the lonely height. 

He drains the deep and fragrant well 
That lies within the lily's bell, 
And wins his knighthood's high degree 
In valiant battle with the bee: 

The butterflies that find him out, 
Where hidden by some leaf he lies, 

His rosy lips in mischief flout, 
And softly fan his sleepy eyes. 
l 9 145 



Where winds are still at highest noon, 
He hears the lazy water croon 
Where minnows skim the lucent pool, 
And ferns make shadows deep and cool ; 

Then fashions, from a floating leaf, 
A boat to seek the farther shore, 

And brings the dragon-fly to grief 
That seeks to bar his passage o'er. 

Thus, while the sun refulgent shines 
On heavy ladened trees and vines, 
Through mellow days and star-sprent nights, 
He reaps a harvest of delights. 

But when the northern blast grows loud, 
Ere yet the woods have lost their green, 

Flashing along the drifting cloud, 
His southward tending wings are seen. 



146 



THE PAST 

Wild sounds of battle and fierce cries of pain, 

Vague murmurs of dim hopes and dreams most rare, 
A glitter of bright swords in sunlit air, 

And desolate cities, ghastly with their slain ; 

In cloister cell, a vexed, imperious brain — 
In hamlet rude, a face deep lined with care — 
On lonesome seas, a soul all space would dare — 

Some " learned churls " that did not live in vain ; 

Babylon and Nineveh, and radiant forms 
Of marvelous beauty ; Cleopatra's face 

Set round with dented shields; brave chiefs, who 
died 

Where serried legions met like clashing storms ; 
A useless fame, bought by death's cold embrace ; 
And fagot embers a charred stake beside. 



i47 



THE FUTURE. 

Why sing the past, whose hollow sounding years 
Lie in dim graves with mail-clad skeletons, 
The muttered thunder of ten thousand guns, 

And baleful light of keen and level spears ? 

The past is dead ; the future now uprears 
Beyond the land where Lethe's river runs, 
Its glad, young face made glorious by great suns, 

And loud and far ring out its lusty cheers. 

Oh, time of conquest and victorious days, 

When manhood, free from chains, shall front the sky, 
And dense oblivion hold grim want and wrong — 

Are far shores washed by your on-rushing sprays ? 
And do we hear, in echoes rising high, 

The resonant chorus of your triumph song? 



IN FANCY'S REALM 

With eyes half shut, I lie upon the sand 

And hear the waters whisper to the land ; 

And in the east, through flame and gold, is born 
The glowing radiance of the sunlit morn. 

Far off the light gilds a soft-swelling sail, 
That like a lessening star grows slowly pale ; 

And lazily along low, crested waves, 

A solitary gull its white breast laves. 

On sloping hills the daisy blossoms show 

Their harmony of blended sun and snow, 

And from cool sweeps of meadow, sweetly ring 
The choral notes that joyous warblers sing. 

Here, where the earth and ocean brightly meet, 
I lie at ease, and murmurs strangely sweet 

Ring through my soul, weird notes that rise from 
where 

The mermaids sing, and comb their yellow hair. 

I have dim dreams of wondrous melodies, 
By tawny Tritons blown down sapphire seas 

That girt some island lying, fair and lone, 

In the glad splendor of the tropic zone. 

149 



Then fades the present, and I wander far, 
Through lands where cities shine out like a star, 
Great cities, crowned and glorious with fame, 
Whose only memory is a sounding name. 

I see the Assyrian maidens wander on, 
Beside the terraced heights of Babylon ; 

And breast the jubilant waves of human foam 
That greet the triumph songs of ancient Rome. 

I pass where, with slow steps, the pilgrims gray 
Toward Jerusalem hold their silent way, 

And, dim and far, see spire and minaret 

Rise in their grandeur over Olivet. 

I hear the merry laugh as plumes advance 
Along the shaded ways of sunny France, 

Where winsome ladies sway, with dainty charms, 
The swords and shields of mighty men-at-arms. 

Where sultry Java swelters in the sea, 
I watch bright birds flit on from tree to tree, 
While, in the fading pomp of ruins old, 
The royal flowers of Ind their leaves unfold. 

Across the waters of the ocean vast, 

I, in the Mayflower, speed before the blast, 

And reach the unknown shores that sternly rise 
Beneath the gloom of wild, tempestuous skies. 

For me the wheat-fields ripen in the plain, 
And hill-side orchards croon the sweet refrain 

Of winds, made cool by restless wanderings where 
The snow-crests gleam in upper heights of air. 

!5° 



The world, and all that it has known, is mine — 
For me the grape grows rich with crimson wine, 
And caravans, with sweetly tinkling bells, 
Gather at eve by deep, palm-shaded wells. 

And slowly from the earth there fades away 
The clash of swords, and battle-trumpets' bray, 
And angel hosts that wing the world above, 
With loud hosannahs swell the songs of love. 

And lying here, I dream of that glad time 
When joyous bells shall ring in every clime, 
And crumbling ramparts slumber in sweet rest, 
And frowning cannon hold a sparrow's nest. 



151 



A LOVER'S MOOD 

With gold-flushed foam of daisy stars, 
The meadow sweeps are all agleam, 

And through the willows, sun-made bars 
Ripple athwart the murmuring stream. 

The blackbird whistles in the marsh, 
The sparrows chatter in the hedge, 

And crows make discord, loud and harsh, 
Where dark pines crown the beetling ledge. 

With slow, glad steps we thread the path 
That leads through tangled grasses sweet, 

And like a fragrant aftermath, 
The clover clusters at our feet. 

Where lithe masts by the river rise, 
We hear the capstan's cheerful clink, 

And listen, while the air replies 
With joy songs of the bob-o-link. 

Supreme in wide and lusty girth, 

The great oak crowns the rounding hill, 

And throws along the sloping earth 
A shadow that is never still. 

Between the purple blooms and white, 
With lingering steps we slowly pass, 

Climbing the hill, where calm delight 
Broods over all the scented grass. 

152 



And prone upon the ground we lie, 
And see the river gloom and shine, 

While lazy sails go drifting by, 

Shadowed by pendant bough and vine. 

The valley trends toward the west, 

And fertile, shimmering fields increase, 

Rich with the golden sign of rest, 
And affluent with promised peace. 

The dusty bees drone down the slope — 

A butterfly, with radiant wings, 
Floats, like a messenger of hope, 

Where in the wind a daisy swings ; 

And far away there sinks and swells 

The cadence of a mellow horn, 
Wind-blown along the wooded dells, 

And deep amid the shadows borne. 

Still loud the meadows are with song, 
But here the birds more softly croon, 

And fast upon our spirits throng 
The blessed lassitudes of noon. 

We know those sacred feelings wrought 
By unknown distances, that move 

The hidden subtleties of thought 
Toward the passion pulse of love. 

Ah, what is left life after this ? 

What higher goal can be our aim ? 
Enough for us love's triumph kiss, 
Even if we die unknown of fame. 
20 153 



INCARNATION 

If I must lie asleep with Death at last — 

Death, that stern monarch of supreme desire, 
Who, when he sees aught that would fain aspire 

To better things, sends his swift chilling blast, 

And lo, a silence on its hope is cast, 

And only embers mark where once was fire — 
I pray that fate will build my funeral pyre 

Amid some mighty ruin of the past. 

There let me sleep, where, centuries ago, 

Was love, and mirth, and kisses sweet as wine, 
And blooms whose ashes have a fragrant breath, 

For then perchance my soul will commune know 
With one who saw the primal sunlight shine, 
Before the world had known the cold of Death. 



»54 



THE PETREL 

Oh, bird of tireless wing, that flies 
A black spot on the leaden skies, 

When tempests loudly roar, 
Where rise the rocks that are your home? 
Frown they where Arctic surges foam 

Along an ice-bound shore ? 

What mysteries of death and storm 
Are held within that buoyant form? 

What ship, whose waiting port 
Still watches for her rising sail, 
Sank down the vortex of a gale 

Whereof you made but sport. 

Where tropic islands gem the sea, 
And over many a wide degree 

The orange groves foretell 
The nearing land, your lazy wing, 
Shadows the coral groves that spring 

Deep down in ocean's well, 

When cyclones bluster where the waves 
Roll high and white above the graves 

Of fleets, lost long ago, 
Like some lone spirit holden fast 
Within the fury of the blast, 

You drift amid the snow. 

*55 



Where rippling seas are cool along 
Wide sands, melodious with song, 

Your sable pinions hold 
Their onward way, while valleys wide 
A moment -in your vision bide, 

Rich with rare autumn gold. 

And at the last, what fate is yours ? 
When age grows strong, and sun allures, 

Then, where the foam lies bright 
In equatorial parallels, 
Do you ride softly on the swells 

Through summer day and night ? 

Oh, bird, whose trackless way has seen 
The Arctic glaciers, and the green 

Of far off orient lands, 
Full oft has blown the wind that bore 
Us outward from the stormy shore, 

Where lie our shrouding sands. 



i S 6 



A DESERTED FARM 

It stands alone in the narrow dell, 

An old red house with an ancient well ; 

A brook gleams bright in the moaning wood, 

Where the crimson flush of the maples hood 

Shines high on the sombre rocks, that rise 

Like a wall against the northern skies. 

A noisy fall from a mountain tarn, 
Flashes and foams by the tumbling barn, 
Whose open door to the wind is free, 
And by it, a moss grown apple-tree, 
Storm rent, and barren of fruitage stands, 
Like a ghost in the warm October lands. 

The tangled copse by the tumbling wall 
Shades the winding road, and strong and tall 
The mulleins grow where the rose was sweet ; 
And grass has hidden the trace of feet, 
Whose merry patter has passed away, 
And left grim silence, and shadows gray. 

In the meadow path the daisies toss, 
And the gate is barred with spider floss ; 
The garden is rich with weed and burr ; 
Through the empty rooms the swift bats whir; 
The roof stares wide at the purple sky, 
And heavy mould on the hearth doth lie. 

l S7 



On the sunny stone that lies before, 
The web enshrouded and creaking door, 
A lazy toad with a mottled coat, 
Dozes and blinks as the brown flies float 
Just out of his reach, and sharp and shrill 

The crickets chirp on the window sill. 

• 

No love is bright in this lonely place, 
Though there lingers still the subtle grace 
That tells of its glory, faith and hope, 
For low winds murmur along the slope, 
And high in an elm a brown thrush swings, 
And a merry carol loudly sings. 

And here where the lithe green grasses grow, 
Some sturdy flowers still bud and blow, 
And the shadowy halls are never dumb, 
Though the ruin of time to them has come, 
For the echo of song and laughter seems 
To linger amid the dusky beams. 



i S 8 



QUATRAINS 



ON AN OLD PROVERB 

" Half of a loaf is better than no bread." 

When one is hungry, right good logic this — 
But who would take the proverb to his bed, 
If Love should offer him one-half a kiss ? 

ii 

a wall between 

The beggar at the palace gate, 
By silver is made rich and great ; 

The king within, grown stern and cold, 

Is poor amid his hoarded gold. 

in 

DISCOVERY 

Out from the silence of the unknown world, 

A whisper falling from invisible lips 
Grew a loud challenge through vast distance hurled, 

And flecked the ocean with adventurous ships. 



»S9 



FOREVER 

In dim ages long ago, 

When the silver moon first shone 
Over wastes of drifted snow, 

Far along cold ice-fields blown, 
There two spirits, earthward tost, 

By Love's altar bent the knee. 
Never has his light been lost, 

Dear, by you and me. 

When resplendent shone the sun, 

And above the ocean vast 
Rocky peaks their way had won ; 

Where huge monsters floated past, 
Shining in the golden air, 

Two vague forms heard Love's decree, 
And the lonely world grew fair, 

Dear, for you and me. 

When, through high and gloomy woods, 

Giants of the old brute world 
Listened to the glacier floods 

Down the groaning mountains hurled, 
There beside a sea now dead, 

Where winds murmured weird and dree, 
Some low words of love were said, 

Dear, by you and me. 
160 



When, where rise the, orient isles, 

Man achieved his present form, 
Radiant with happy smiles, 

Filled with passion, pure and warm, 
There Love's first betrothal kiss 

Glorified each fair degree, 
Ah ! the countless years, since this 

Came to you and me ! 

Has time's silence cast its pall 

On years when through fragrant glooms, 
Came the tiger's purring call, 

And ripe fruit and bursting blooms 
Bent where flowed the restless tide, 

And the purple tropic sea 
Girt the populous lands, and wide, 

Ruled by you and me ? 

Deep in Afric's burning zone 

We have seen great empires rise ; 
Crumbling masses of huge stone 

Tell their story to the skies. 
In those ruins, grim and old, 

We held revel late and free, 
Tawny slaves, in chains of gold, 

Serving you and me. 

We have camped in IshmaeFs land, 

Fought with brave Semiramis, 
Marched with Antony the Grand, 

Ere Cleopatra's love was his ; 
Saw stout Cceur-de-Lion's blade 

Make the Paynim warrior flee ; 
And in China once were made 

Graves for you and me. 



161 



Far in centuries to come, 

Over land where waves are high 
Sometime will our footsteps roam ; 

Earth renewed and fresh will lie ; 
We shall hear the vanished years, 

Dirge-like, past us sweep, and see 
Space reveal its brilliant spheres, 

Then, to you and me. 

We have been since Time was born, 

We shall be when Time is not ; 
Worlds may see a radiant morn, 

Live their day, and be forgot ; 
But nor dreamless sleep, nor death, 

Can our rulers ever be — 
Love all foemen vanquisheth, 

Dear, for you and me. 



162 



ROYALTY 

Out from the dust of ages, 

Out from the wreck of years, 
Fronting the work of sages, 

Fronting the waste of tears, 
Radiant, swift, immortal, 

Earth flings the soul of man, 
And shuts the iron portal 

That hides creation's plan. 

Here with the gate behind him, 

Here in the narrow path, 
Fronting the suns that blind him, 

Fronting the winds of wrath, 
Man, with his head uplifted, 

Man, with his hair out blown, 
Virile, and strong, and gifted, 

Builds for himself a throne. 

Say that the grave is waiting, 

Say that the shroud is white, 
Say that the strength of hating 

Owneth no victor's might, 
Earth, from the cycles olden, 

Holds for the life complete, 
Blossoms, and sunlight golden, 

Red lips, and kisses sweet. 



l6 3 



Whose are the chains that fetter? 

Whose are the swords that bite ? 
Master's, and yet no better 

Than we, who brave the fight ; 
Earth hath no royal races — 

Crowns, yea, and swords must break, 
When in the hidden faces 

Death finds the hearts that quake. 

Why fear the pain that passes ? 

Lo, birds will always sing — 
Yea, and the vernal grasses 

Wake with each waking spring : 
And from the silent sleeping, 

Strong grow the weary eyes, 
Ere comes the upward sweeping 

Far through the distant skies. 

Fronting the years that lengthen 

Like some recurring chain, 
Souls in life's combat strengthen, 

Conquering death and pain : 
Battling in God-like fashion 

Through ways that none have trod, 
Rise they, by noble passion, 

Up to the heights of God. 



164 



INSPIRATION 

Narrow and steep the pathway we must tread, 
And even then the crown may be of thorn, 
That all the years thereafter must be worn, 

Till silence numbers us among the dead : 

Hard must we toil to win this bitter bread, 

And through the clear flush of the radiant morn, 
Oft see the clouds, with edges tempest torn, 

Rise in dense gloom, by disappointment led. 

Yet is not all this strife a better gift, 

Than aimless journeyings through sunlit days ? 

Does not each upward struggle serve to lift 

The soul to where God's clearer radiance plays, 

Till through some stern and rock-embattled rift, 
We reach at last life's firm and level ways ? 



i6 S 



MANHOOD 

You sneer at me, and cry forsooth — 
Because within my heart I hold 

This visage grim, and form uncouth, 
Better than beauty, or than gold. 

Why prate of things that have no charm 
To stay the withering breath of age ? 

Lo, here within this brawny arm, 
I hold what can all griefs assuage. 

The subtle mechanism of thought, 
That grows to fruitage in the brain, 

By this strong hand to shape is wrought, 
Until it stands complete and plain. 

I know that beauty gladdens life, 
That wealth and comfort are allied, 

And yet, why fill the hours with strife, 
Because they will not seek my side ? 

Shall I, because the days are long, 

And toil with each more weary grows, 

Say that the birds have lost their song ? 
And find no fragrance in the rose ? 

The purpose of my life is this, 

To make each hour its treasure yield, 
Even though some passing joy I miss, 
While busy in the harvest field. 
166 



And what at last will be my loss, 
If from the gloom of stormy lands, 

And waves that high in fury toss, 
I win my way to sunlit sands? 

Ah, if life's purpose I fulfill, 

What more can potentate or king, 

Who see men bow before their will, 
Unto the bar of judgment bring? 

In that new land to which we win, 
He leads, who gathers while he can, 

In ways beset with strife and sin, 
The stature of a noble man. 

Rough and uncouth in speech and form, 
I hold within that gift divine — 

A heart with tender passion warm — 
Whose treasure then is more than mine ? 

Sneer if you will, yea, scoff and laugh, 
But what have you I cannot save 

When from death's sombre flood we quaff, 
And find the level of the grave ? 



167 



DONIZETTI 

When tempests swept the pine-clad Appenines, 
Humbling the pride of many a towering tree, 
The fierce storm music to thy heart was free : 

And when the wild bee, in the clustering vines 

Where sleepy Arno like a jewel shines, 

Winged lazily, he sang sweet songs to thee, 
And winds that held weird murmurs of the sea 

Made for thy soul vast, echo-haunted shrines. 

What are the ages to a soul like thine, 
Whose work is for all time, soaring away 

From pain, and death, and every earth-made bound? 

Ah ! fadeless are the wreaths the long years twine 
In fond remembrance of thy magic sway, 
O mighty master of melodious sound ! 



1 68 



QUATRAINS 



DISAPPOINTMENT 



From the drear wastes of unfulfilled desire, 
We harvest dreams that never come to pass, 

Then pour our wine amid the dying fire, 

And on the cold hearth break the empty glass. 



II 

TIME 

Time has no flight — 't is we who speed along ; 

The days and nights are but the same as when 
The earth awoke with the first rush of song, 

And felt the swiftly passing feet of men. 

in 

HARVEST-TIME 

Winter is keen with wind and white with snow, 

And Spring gives blossoms to the orchard trees, 
Then wheat-fields ripen in the Summer's glow, 
And Autumn harvests all the strength of these. 
22 169 



IV 
ANSWERED 



A dark, cowled figure knelt before a shrine, 

And prayed, " Oh, Father, give my hate its will." 

Then lurid lightnings in the temple shine, 
And leave a shadow lying cold and still. 



v 

LOVE SUPREME 



You ask what love is ? It is this, my own : 
To hold all women pure because of you, 

Yet give heart reverence unto you alone, 

And for your sake be steadfast, brave, and true. 



170 



SUMMER TIME 

A golden glory lies along the hills ; 

A few light cirri float across the blue 
Of the far sky. In leafy coverts, thrills 

Of bird songs waken, but the notes are few. 
The bees hum lazily, though flowers are sweet, 

And ripened fruits blush with a gleam of red ; 
And drowsily the cattle move and eat, 

With eager, buzzing flies about each head ; 
And the hot sun is now in its full prime, 
For it is summer time. 

Silently through the meadow flows the stream, 

Flashing, but murmurless ; not as in spring, 
When, rich in music, it sent out a gleam 

Of silver where, mid rocks, its eddying ring 
Made mimic whirlpools. Slowly waves the corn, 

And slowly swing the scythes along the field 
Where weary workers wait the dinner-horn, 

That noontide rest to tired arms will yield ; 
And slowly doth the locust sing his chime 
In the ripe summer time. 

High overhead the bright sun holds his way; 

His lucent rays glow in the mellow peach, 
The apples catch his fire at close of day, 

Pears, berries, flowers, he gives his strength to each ; 

171 



And though so hot he is, his torrid beams 

Make the grapes purple grow along the wall ; 
With harvest gold the heavy grain-field gleams, 
And swallows sharply to each other call; 

And the sad whip-poor-will doth chant his rhyme, 
These nights of summer time. 

Oh, happy time of blossom, fruit, and leaf, 

When all the land is glad with glorious life, 
When barns grow rich with many a high-piled sheaf, 

And forest warblers make melodious strife. 
Long may you crown the passing of the years 

With promise of a plenteous autumn store, 
Robbing old winter of its grizzly fears 

That cast their phantom shadows on before. 

Welcome, fair bounty, gladdening our sweet clime, 
Refulgent summer time ! 



172 



« 

ENVOI 

If I have taught one soul to feel that life 

Is something higher than the toil and fret, 
The pain, the waste of love, the cold and strife 
We may not all forget, — 

If I have made one hour of pleasure fall 

Within the path where torn and weary feet 
Move slowly onward, answering duty's call, 
Then is my work complete. 



173 




r/m TmVm'iV/ 



